


Holly at Hogwarts--From Sir, with Love

by Forest_of_Holly



Series: Holly at Hogwarts [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 157,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forest_of_Holly/pseuds/Forest_of_Holly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tragic accident at the Quidditch World Cup affects everyone's lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amanda Alice](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Amanda+Alice).



          The waves crashed unceasingly against the rocks surrounding Azkaban Prison. The occupants of Azkaban did not notice the waves. They were more concerned with the dementors that swirled in and about every cell. No longer the sole guards of the prison, the dementors periodic tested the boundaries of their own confinement, which was outside the prison proper and surrounded the island itself. The boundaries had loosened once before letting some escape, perhaps again… Finding no escape, the dementors concentrated their attention on the one cell that contained a patronus. The patronus, a silvery weasel, circled the cell repeatedly protecting the person within, a hooded, robed figure seated at a small table in the center of the room. The door to the cell opened and Witch Umbridge entered. Dressed in prison gray, her clothing hung loosely upon her body reflecting a loss of weight, as did the folds of skin that sagged beneath her chin. She staggered briefly and sat heavily into the nearby chair as the prison door clanged shut behind her.       
         The hooded figure leaned forward and placed a rather large chunk of something dark brown on the table in front of the witch. She stared at it blankly for a moment and then snatched it quickly. Chocolate! Witch Umbridge crammed the chocolate into her mouth and ate greedily. She ate swiftly for several minutes before finally slowing and taking an interest in her surroundings. In particular, her gaze focused on the person sitting across the table in front of her.  
          “I don’t know you,” the witch said while staring intently at the person with her wide bulging eyes.  
          “That is not important,” whispered the figure across from her.  
          Umbridge ate some more chocolate while she considered his words. “What is?” she finally asked.  
          “What is important is how long you can stay in this room…” The person looked significantly at the weasel that continued to prowl protectively around the rim of the room.  
          “What do you want?” Witch Umbridge asked bluntly.  
          “Information,” came the answer.  
          “About what?”  
          “Holly Ann Wycliff.”  
          Witch Umbridge gave a short laugh. “That’s easy enough,” she told the person. “Third, no fourth year student at Hogwarts,” she began. “Mudblood cousin of _Harry Potter_.” She spit out the name Harry Potter with undisguised hatred. “Supposed to be an Empath,” the witch finished.  
          “I do not want information that can be found in the _Daily Prophet_ ,” said the person with annoyance.  
          “Then ask her friends,” retorted Witch Umbridge sharply.  
          “I’m asking you!”  
          “You waste your time,” scoffed the Witch. “I know nothing more about Wycliff than what the _Daily Prophet_ reports.”  
          "You were at Hogwarts last year!” accused the person.  
          “I was not!” Witch Umbridge denied emphatically. “Those claims came from delusional students seeking to escape blame for their own misdeeds!”  
          “And Trelawney?”  
          “Trelawney is a crackpot! She seeks justification for her erratic classroom behavior and revenge against me for dismissing her. She has no actual skills or abilities and should never have been reinstated.”  
          “I disagree,” said the person calmly. He leaned forward. “I don’t think they were delusional, not this time. You were in Trelawney’s room in the fall!” he accused. “Further, I believe the subject of your interest was not Potter, as Trelawney suggests, but Wycliff! Wycliff was also in that class,” he reminded her. “You may have left Potter at the base of the stadium, but you removed Wycliff from the Hufflepuff carriage and took her into the forest long before the Potters came on the scene. Someone using polyjuice tried to abduct Wycliff from outside the Defense against the Dark Arts class room and it was you who ordered Crowley to fetch Wycliff from the Infirmary.”  
          Witch Umbridge leaned forward and fixed her wide eyes upon the robed person. “Prove it!” she challenged.  
           “I don’t have to,” replied the person calmly. “I am not from the Ministry; I have no interest in your previous activities or business with Wycliff,” the person added while leaning back in his chair. “I am only concerned with what you know about Wycliff.”  
          “Ask someone else!” insisted Witch Umbridge.  
          The person studied Witch Umbridge thoughtfully from his chair. “What do you want?” he asked finally.  
          “What do I want?” asked Witch Umbridge. “I want out! Not just for an hour or a day, but out, out! And I want a wand and to be in a place where I can use that wand to get as far away from here as possible!”  
          “What, no galleons?” asked the person in an amused voice.  
          “Galleons do no good when they cannot be spent,” replied Witch Umbridge scornfully. “And I want to be out in such a way that I don’t have to worry about wizards chasing after me!” she added.  
          “You ask for a lot,” observed the person.  
          “As do you,” replied the Witch bluntly, “but I think it is not an impossible task for one clever enough to arrange this meeting without the knowledge of the Ministry … or do they know?”  
           The person studied Witch Umbridge for several minutes before speaking. “Very well,” he told her finally. “I shall get you a wand and out. Now, tell me about Wycliff.”  
           Witch Umbridge laughed. “I am not so foolish as to accept your word on that. Get me out first, with wand in hand at a place where I can Apparate before I speak.”  
           “And why would you speak if I did that?” questioned the person.  
           “Because you could notify the authorities of my “escape” should I fail to carry out my end.”  
           "I can do that anyway.”  
           “Perhaps, but if you do, I shall see to it they know all about you…”  
           “You don’t know who I am…”  
           “True,” agreed Witch Umbridge, “but I don’t need to. I wouldn’t be telling the Ministry,” she added explaining. Her bulging eyes narrowed and she said, “I would see to it that Harry Potter is informed of your interest in Wycliff...”  
           “You would tell Potter? But you don’t like him.”  
           “I don’t,” she agreed calmly, “but I’d never let that get in the way of revenge should you try to betray me. Potter requires no proof and can be quite resourceful. He does not forget those who help him and is very … protective … of his cousin…” She popped the last bit of chocolate in her mouth. “Note I said, “informed,” the witch added after she finished the chocolate. Her eyes glittered dangerously. “That doesn’t necessarily mean I would do it. I still have friends on the outside and inside. Should something unfortunate happen to me, my friends will notify Potter on my behalf…”  
           The person studied Witch Umbridge several minutes before speaking again. “What is to stop you from telling Potter anyway?” he finally asked.  
           “Potter?” said Witch Umbridge with obvious disgust. “I would use him only as a last resort. Better that you carry out your plans whatever they are. They will no doubt keep Potter occupied enabling me to set up a new life without interference…”  
           “It might,” agreed the person thoughtfully. “It might indeed.” He straightened having come to a decision. “A wand and out?”  
           “Yes,” agreed Witch Umbridge. “And when I’m out, I shall tell you all I know about Holly Ann Wycliff...”

**********


	2. Chapter 2

           “Hasn’t this been the greatest week ever?” questioned Becky Smith.  
           “Yes,” agreed Holly in a not so enthusiastic voice.  
           Becky felt herself flush guiltily remembering it hadn’t been such a great week for Holly. When the Owens had won a couple of extra tickets to the Quidditch World Cup as part of a promotional deal they had invited Becky and Holly to come as well. Becky had agreed instantly, excited at the prospect of watching such a famous game. Holly’s response had come much more slowly. That was probably because it had taken Holly a while to talk her father into agreeing. But Holly had won out in the end and her parents had taken her to Becky’s house. The Owens came later that night and had taken them to Ipswich (where Mark lived) and the next morning, the group took a portkey to the location of the World Cup.  
           “Come on,” said Becky cheerfully. “You have to admit that all the shops and souvenirs from the different countries were great to look at—not to mention the people and their festive clothes!” Mr. Owens had been thrilled when he discovered that their allotted tent space was in the center of the wizard encampment right next to all the action. Becky suspected that Holly had been less than thrilled with the location. Though Holly hadn’t said anything, Becky knew Holly preferred being on the outskirts, where the press of wizard emotions would come at her from one side instead of all. Holly had probably been blocking ever since she first arrived, something Becky knew Holly hated to do…  
           “True,” agreed Holly reluctantly. “I just wish I had seen more of the game…”  
           The Owens’ box seats were also centrally located, with front row viewing. The group had just settled down to watch the opening ceremonies when Holly came down with a case of dysentery, the runs, whatever. Dysentery was what the healer called it when they visited the First Aide tent later… But at the time it was only an emergency visit to the loo… As a result, Holly missed the opening festivities and start of the match. Becky missed it too. Though no one asked Healer Winonan if Holly had any “restrictions” while at the World Cup, Becky and Mark decided it would be safer for Holly if they continued to accompany her everywhere… One never knew what would trigger a “flashback.”  
           It turned out that centrally located box seats were also the furtherest away from the loos... Becky and Holly missed the first few points of the game too, as well as a nasty tumble by one of the “favorite” players… By the fourth trip, Becky was fairly certain that nothing earthshaking would happen to Holly while inside the restroom, so Mark traded off with Becky and accompanied Holly down to the loo and back, and back again…  
           Mrs. Owens later took Holly to the first aide tent. They missed the New Product promotional freebees in the process. (Becky saved some for them but they went bad before the two got back.) The potion the Healer gave Holly helped for the rest of the day, but that evening Holly was back to making more trips to the loo... Though no one complained, Becky could tell Holly felt very self-conscience about all the extra attention she was receiving and how much the others missed just to stay with her. In all, Holly probably saw more of the toilets than anything else while at the World Cup.  
           "That just means there’s more to look forward to next time!” replied Becky brightly determined to look at the positive side of things.  
           “Yeah,” agreed Holly without enthusiasm. Becky was fairly certain Holly would never consider going to another Quidditch World Cup…  
           “Just a bit longer,” assured Becky as they reached the outskirts of the encampment and started walking down the narrow path to their departure point, “and we’ll be back at the Owens’ place where you can rest up and get better…” Mercifully for Holly, the game ended after two days. (Mark told Becky that the Quidditch World Cup had lasted a full week the previous year!) Mrs. Owens was positive a proper bed, some decent food and a bathroom within a few feet of the bed would make all the difference in Holly’s recovery. At the moment the two were on their way to the portkey station. Mark and his family had gone on ahead with the luggage. Becky and Holly had lingered behind to make yet another bathroom stop…  
           “That’s good,” replied Holly. “I mean it’s been nice seeing all the wizards gathered together and there’s been some really fun stuff to see but I could really use some peace and quiet.” Suddenly Holly stopped and gave a low moan.  
           “Again?” asked Becky with understanding.  
           “Yeah,” Holly groaned. “I don’t know what’s wrong! I’ve scarcely eaten anything the last few days and still… We just passed a loo a few meters back,” she told Becky nodding to a tent behind them. “You wait here. I’ll be just a minute.”  
           “That’s O.K.,” said Becky easily, “I’ll come with you.”  
           "No,” sighed Holly. “I can move faster alone. Here,” she said handing Becky her traveling bag. “Get Sasha ready and keep going. I’ll catch up with you.” And Holly hurried to the tent quickly vanishing inside.  
           “Sasha,” called Becky stopping the cat mid-stride. “In you go,” she told the cat while holding open Holly’s bag. The cat obligingly hopped inside. Becky zipped the case shut. She stood, tucked the bag under her arm and started back towards the tent. She didn’t feel right leaving Holly behind. If Holly didn’t get out soon and they were both late, so be it; she wouldn’t let Holly get stuck here alone…  
           Holly came out and walked stiffly towards Becky.  
           “Everything O.K.?” asked Becky.  
           “Yes,” whispered Holly though she looked rather pale.  
           “Last call for 10:45!” announced the travel coordinator loudly standing in the not too far distance in front of them. Becky could see the Owens family already there waiting.  
           “That’s us,” reminded Becky. She tightened her grip on the now struggling bag containing Sasha. “Let’s go!” she suggested and the two moved swiftly towards the departure point and portkey.

**********

          Harry Potter lounged in a chair at the Quidditch World Cup headquarters. Dad, Arthur Weasley, was there along with the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shaklebolt and various other Ministry officials discussing the preliminary outcome to the Quidditch World Cup event. Harry had quit listening after Mr. Weasley had pronounced the event an “unqualified success.” Harry was there because both Kingsley and “dad” had asked Harry to “stick around” for the celebratory luncheon afterwards. It was hard to say “no” to either of them, worse when they ganged up on him as a team. So Harry sat politely while trying to look like he was listening to the various reports about the recently completed match.  
           In reality his mind was on other topics. Ginny and the children were probably all packed and near their 11:00 portkey station. It was a bit of a hike but that would help them identify and discourage persistent reporters that always seemed to hover about. The portkey went to Blackpool where Harry had arranged for a second portkey to take the family to London. More misdirection for reporters.  
           Then Harry wondered about Holly. Had she had had a good time? Harry knew Holly had attended the Cup because Mr. Owens had written Harry about the invitation in the first place because of the guardianship thing… Harry told them that whether or not Holly attended was purely up to her parents. He had gone on to suggest that if Holly did come, it might be advisable to not mention it to anyone or put Holly’s name on any of the lists. The Restraining Order kept Rita away from Holly while she was with her family, but a Wizard World Cup encampment was another matter… If Rita got wind Holly was here she would pursue Holly ruthlessly for an interview. Later, Harry got a second note from the Owens thanking him for the advice and confirming that Holly would indeed be attending… Mr. Owens had concluded the note by inviting Harry to drop by and visit any time, but Harry hadn’t. This was Holly’s time with her friends. There would be time enough to visit with Holly on the way to Hogwarts. Had she left for home yet?  
Harry stood and wandered over to the refreshment table. Prominently displayed were several bottles of Sorbitium, some new product being promoted and advertised as being non-alcoholic and better than butterbeer. Harry picked up a bottle and was in the process of taking a drink when an explosion suddenly rocked the office violently shaking the area like an earthquake!  
           “What?” As did everyone else, Harry drew his wand and rushed outside to find the cause. A huge black cloud billowed up in the distance. It looked to be on the outskirts of the wizard encampment.  
           “Come on!” said Kingsley. Harry pocketed his wand and followed Kingsley towards the smoke.  
           “What happened?” Harry heard Kingsley ask when they finally neared the source of the smoke. They had pushed through the growing crowds of people coming to stop outside a blackened area with smoke still billowing up from scattered flames burning on the ground. Harry stared in horror at the charred forms lying on the blackened ground that he suddenly realized were people!  
           “What happened?” repeated Kingsley to another person nearby.  
           In the background Harry heard someone frantically call out, “Healer! Healer! We need a Healer over here!”  
           “The portkey blew up!” someone said answering Kingsley’s question.  
           _“A portkey?”_ thought Harry in disbelief. _“That’s not possible! They weren’t explosive, were they?”_ Puffing loudly, Arthur Weasley came up from behind stopping besides Harry and Kingsley.  
           “Get the master portkey list,” Kingsley said to Mr. Weasley. “We need to know who was at that portkey!”  
Arthur nodded. He waived his wand and Apparated vanishing from sight. Numbly Harry found himself helping the other wizards clear away an area to put the injured, and then an area for the Healer tent…  
           Kingsley came over as Harry worked keeping a path clear for the Healers to come through. “Got the information on the portkey,” he told Harry quietly. “The time was for a wizard family named Owens, party of seven,” Kingsley said. “He’s apparently the curator at the Wizard Museum in Ipswich…”  
           “Owens?” said Harry sharply. The name abruptly brought Harry’s mind out of its dazed stupor.  
           “Yeah,” agreed Kingsley. “Know them?”  
           “Holly!” said Harry faintly while looking around at all the injured with renewed interest.  
           “What?”  
           “Holly!” repeated Harry with a sense of urgency. “She was with the Owens!” he told Kingsley. “That was her portkey!”

**********

          Laurel Wycliff was in the kitchen peeling carrots for dinner when she heard the doorbell ring. She hastily rinsed off and dried her hands before hurrying to answer the door.  
           “Mr. Potter!” she said in surprise when she opened the door. “What are you doing here? Won’t you come in?” she invited backing away from the door. “If you’re looking for Holly,” continued Laurel without waiting for an answer, “she’s not here…” Laurel’s voice trailed off. Mr. Potter, Harry, didn’t look right, not right at all. He wore the usual gray clothes but Harry’s face was deathly pale, his eyes seemed bloodshot and there were dark rings of purple on the skin beneath them. “Are you all right?” asked Laurel with concern. “Perhaps you should come in and sit down…”  
           “I, uh, no, I don’t think I should,” he said in an uncertain sounding voice. Laurel froze in place uncertain what to do or say next. “Uh, is D-uh-Dillon in?” Harry asked looking beyond Laurel into the house but not moving from the doorway.  
           “I’m here,” said Dillon gruffly moving up besides Laurel. He’d been watching the tube. “What’s going on?” Dillon asked with annoyance. “Holly’s at the Cup!” he told Harry as if that was if reason enough for him to leave.  
           “I know,” Harry said almost distractedly. His eyes looked forward but not actually at either of them. “That’s why… uh…”  
           “Spit it out!” demanded Dillon impatiently.  
           Harry lowered his gaze and looked at the two of them. Laurel could see something like despair in his eyes. “There’s uh, been an… accident…” his voice trailed off. Laurel’s heart seemed to stop at the word accident. That was never good. Given the way Harry looked it could not be good at all!  
           “An accident?” questioned Dillon roughly. “What kind of accident?”  
           “An explosion…”  
           “An explosion? Just great!” said Dillon sarcastically. He waited for Harry to say something further, but Harry just stood there looking awful. “Something’s happened to Holly!” guessed Dillon with growing worry in his voice. “How bad?” Dillon demanded when Harry didn’t answer.  
           “Uh…”  
           “Answer me! How bad?” Dillon persisted.  
           Harry gulped and looked down. He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out something black and handed it to Laurel. It was a thin piece of melted metal, silver in color, charred black with knobbly lumps on it. Looking closely, Laurel realized it was a bracelet, a charm bracelet, or had been once. The charms were so melted they were unrecognizable, almost. Laurel knew at once it was Holly’s bracelet! Holly always wore… Laurel looked up at Harry in disbelief. “Holly’s not d—” she stopped unable to finish the word let alone the thought. But she didn’t have to. The grief in Harry’s face said everything. “No!” she whispered in horror while clutching the bracelet tightly. It cracked and broke under her grip. “How could she be—”  
           “GO!” ordered Dillon in a voice unlike any Laurel had ever heard before. It was low and horrible. The strength of it pushed Harry away. He sort of staggered back and then took another backwards step. **“I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU OR YOUR LOT EVER AGAIN!”** Dillon continued. Harry took another backwards step and then another. **“EVER!”** repeated Dillon loudly as Harry turned and tottered forward turning down the sidewalk taking slow forward steps on unsteady feet.

  
**_“EVER!!!”_**

  
           When Harry had moved out of sight Dillon turned and started walking. Laurel turned and watched. Dillon headed unsteadily into the main room leaning on the furniture to keep his balance as he moved. He sat down heavily in the nearest sofa. “The book!” he said in that same horrible voice without looking up. Laurel jumped at the sound. The crumbling bracelet dropped from her fingers unnoticed. “Bring it to me!” Dillon ordered. Laurel shut the door, hastened to the pantry and pulled out the small turquoise colored book she kept hidden there. It had the word ADDRESS written on the outside in purple and was ornamented in the center with a small purple glass chip in the shape of a diamond. Without a word Laurel handed the book to Dillon. He took it without a word and opened the book. The purple lined pages were blank. It looked very ordinary but both of them knew it was some sort of a magic book that enabled them to send messages to Cousin Harry.  
           Gripping each side tightly, Dillon pulled—harder and harder he pulled, the muscles in his arm bunched with the exertion, until the book ripped apart with a loud popping and crackling sound. Dillon dropped one half of the book letting it fall to the floor. He seized the other side with both hands and pulled again ripping the pages in two. Dropping one of the halves, Dillon tore the other part in two and then picked up the larger pieces from the floor and proceeded to tear each piece smaller and smaller. He did this again and again not stopping until there was a mound of shredded paper on the floor in front of him and nothing was left large enough to tear.  
           Dillon stared wordlessly at the pile a long time. Then he looked towards Laurel with unseeing eyes. “The necklace,” he spit out with emotion. The expression on Dillon’s face was terrifying.  
           “No!” argued Laurel knowing Dillon meant to destroy the necklace too. The necklace in question had a pendant that was a piece of wizard magic. It shined a lovely iridescent colour unless something happened to Holly… “It’s mine! She gave it to me!” Laurel added desperately. “I’ll keep it out of sight, I promise, but I won’t give it up! I can’t!” Though she wouldn’t get rid of the necklace, Laurel knew she’d never bring it out from its current hiding place. She couldn’t bear to see the hideous black colour that must now be there—ultimate confirmation of the unimaginable.  
           Dillon didn’t argue. Instead, his body seemed to collapse in on itself in defeat and he buried his head in his hands. “They killed her!” he moaned. “They finally killed her!” he repeated over and over again…


	3. Chapter 3

          “More Sabois, anyone?” Several hands raised up. Cicily Roche reached into the specially chilled bag, drew out the required number of bottles and tossed one to each raised hand. Wizard Ercwlff had sent a couple free cases of his new drink to the Hufflepuffs as a “Welcome Back to School/Welcome New Hufflepuffs” gift their first night at Hogwarts. The drink had been well received by the students who tried it. Everyone was pleasantly surprised when the Hufflepuffs received more Sabois on Friday, sent as “Congratulations for Surviving the First Week of School” so the drink was shared by all during their House meeting.  
          Prefect Donna MacMillan took a sip from her own bottle of Sabois while she waited until the group settled down again. Then she continued with the meeting. “The last item on the agenda for tonight is the Memorial,” she said. Holly’s death had affected them all and a memorial of some sort had been proposed as a way to help them deal with that loss.  
          “I checked with Professor Iverson and got her consent to set one up in the library next to Cedric’s,” Donna continued, “unfortunately we’re having difficulty locating a photo of Holly…” She took another sip of Sabois and then added, “I wrote Mr. Potter and he sent us a letter saying he had no photo and, while he did not oppose the idea of a memorial, the Wycliffs have indicated a desire to not be disturbed. Mr. Potter intended to respect their wishes and hoped we did the same and not bother them about this...” There was a groan of disappointment.  
          “Surely, if they understood what we were doing?” persisted a tearful Lynette Huckaby. Holly had tutored her.  
          “No!” said Becky Smith. Her whispery voice came out rough and scratchy. That was a considerable improvement over a few days ago when she hadn’t even been able to speak.  
          Becky Smith and Mark Owens had received nearly a hero’s welcome when they walked into Hogwarts Great Hall that first night. Clearly not recovered from their injuries, even the Slytherins had applauded their determination to attend school rather than remain home or in St. Mungo’s. The healers had worked miracles. The Daily Prophet had mentioned charred lungs, broken bones, internal injuries and extensive burns among other things. Given how the two looked when they first arrived at Hogwarts, Donna could not begin to imagine what the healers had found at the site of the explosion. The burns they suffered were the worst kind of injury to heal. Successful burn healing had to be done gradually from the inside out.  
          Becky had been the most seriously injured of all the survivors. She had arrived at Hogwarts barely able to walk with her face and body horribly scarred. She wore a black and gold kerchief to cover her scarred, bald head. Becky’s throat was so damaged she was unable to speak and could only take in liquids. Sabois was of considerable comfort to her that first night. Becky continued to take a potion for the pain and others to continue healing. Though the main internal injuries had healed, there was still her throat to repair and a lot of cosmetic work to do. Becky applied a special lotion to her skin three times a day to keep it soft while one of the potions she took promoted rapid skin growth. Becky’s skin had sloughed off a couple of times, much like a reptile, revealing smoother skin beneath each time. The kerchief she wore still hid the burns on her head but now there was also a stubble of hair growth between the scars. Susan Breysburry had already borrowed and begun reading Professor Lovegood’s book Hexing with Love in the hopes that the proper hexes could help…  
          “They won’t talk to us,” Becky told the group in reference to the Wycliffs. “Mum wrote them after, after it happened and the letter came back unopened. They sent back the Owens’ letter the same way.” She took a drink of Sabois and her face showed obvious pleasure while she swallowed. Donna overheard Becky tell Susan that Sabois was the only thing that helped her forget…  
          “I could do a sketch of her from memory,” offered Clayton Eggleton.  
          “That would be great,” said Donna with a smile of relief. They all knew Clayton was good at portraits.  
          “I contacted the Ministry of Magic and told them what we wanted to do,” reported Prefect Eddie Shunpike. “They sent me a list of the things they have from the explosion. They said we could take anything we wished to help make our memorial.” He passed around a scroll for the other Hufflepuffs to review and took a drink of Sabois while giving them time to look. Then he continued. “As you can see, there isn’t much. This is a list of the things they sent to Mr. Potter,” he added handing around a second scroll. “I presume they were forwarded on to the Wycliffs,” he looked uncertainly to Becky for some sign of confirmation and when she didn’t move, he added, “but maybe not…” he turned to Donna. “Did you ask about that?” She shook her head.  
          “They also sent me this,” he added sounding cheerful while pulling a rather large box from behind his back.  
          “That the ash?” questioned Mickey O’Toole with interest putting down his emptied bottle of Sabois so he have a closer look. Wizard Ercwlff boasted that Sabois was environmentally friendly. It sure seemed that way; after 24 hours opened bottles of Sabois dissolved into a fine powder that was easily swept away.  
          “Uh huh!” replied Eddie passing the box to the Mickey for inspection. When he finished, Mickey promptly handed the box to the student next to him. “And look!” he added proudly. He pulled out a small jar filled with tiny black beads and shook it. The beads rattled loudly. Everyone leaned forward to look. “That mud pie transfiguring charm you remembered seems to work!” he said addressing Mark. Mark nodded as he took a sip of Sabois.  
Mark had arrived at Hogwarts barely able to see; he had to be guided to his seat in the Great Hall and have help with his food. Mark’s head and face were scarred and his right hand and fingers were bent and stiff from the burns he received. Also much improved, Mark could now see to eat and could read a bit, if he held the paper close to his nose. Donna knew he was rather proud he could actually hold the Sabois bottle with his right hand! But Mark was also taking potions frequently for pain.  
Eddie passed the jar around for inspection. “It looks like we can transfigure the ashes into a frame,” he told the group in a cheerful voice. “Carrie?” he looked at Carrie Breysburry. “Perhaps you and Lynette could design something special for the frame and we’ll transfigure the ash into it,” he suggested. They both nodded their heads vigorously; their faces were wet with tears. Like Clayton, Carrie had a knack for artistic things. Lynette was her best friend and Eddie could tell Lynette needed to be personally involved somehow in the creation of the memorial…  
           “You sure this ash comes from the explosion site?” asked Clayton. He had dipped the feather end of one of his art quills into the box and was stirring the contents while he spoke.  
           “Of course it does!” exclaimed Eddie. “Mr. Weasley said he scooped it up himself. He wouldn’t lie about that. I know there’s a lot of dirt mixed in,” Eddie added apologetically, “but that can’t be helped; the whole area got muddy when they put out the fires and when the ash landed it mixed in with the mud while they were doing the rescue work.”  
           “I understand about the dirt,” replied Clayton thoughtfully. “But if this ash is really from the explosion site then it’s not right somehow… Something is missing…”

**********


	4. Chapter 4

          Vernon Wycliff stared glumly at the swirl of color in the gym. The suit he was wearing felt tight and uncomfortable. The music was loud and cheerful which only made Vernon feel worse. Vernon was in the Worchester Ladies Academy gym attending the Smeltings/Worchester Welcome Back to School Dance. Smeltings was an all-male educational facility. The Worchester Ladies Academy was the nearby female equivalent. The two schools regularly scheduled functions together as a chance for the students to meet and socialize with people of similar age and social standing… Last year attendance to the dance had been optional. This year, it was mandatory. Vernon hadn’t wanted to come feeling the way he did, but to get out of attending would have required an explanation, something that Vernon didn’t think he could do.  
           Vernon had felt numb all over since Holly’s death. No one at home talked about what had happened or mentioned Holly’s name. He, mum and dad went about their daily business just like before, as if Cousin Harry had never visited and Holly was still out with friends somewhere, but it wasn’t the same. Life had become a series of meaningless actions for Vernon. Dad had this defeated slump in his every movement and step and mum, when she wasn’t cooking, she was cleaning—non stop. The garage positive sparkled and house had never shined so much, except for Holly’s room, which was left untouched. Vernon returned to Smeltings because that’s what one did at the end of summer: go back to school. In truth, returning to Smeltings seemed easier than staying home—where Holly’s empty room was an endless reminder of her absence.  
           No one except his roommate and friend Kenny knew about Holly’s death. Kenny had taken one look at Vernon’s face and listless behavior and knew something was wrong, something serious. Kenny took Vernon out to the track field for a private conversation and for the first time Vernon found himself talking about Holly and what had happened. Taking Kenny’s advice Vernon buried himself in his classes and the days were easier to bear, but not the nights and not at some stupid dance where people were supposed to be cheerful and happy.  
           Vernon looked dejectedly around and his eyes fixed on the refreshment table. “I’m going to get something to eat,” he announced to no one in particular. He turned and asked Kenny, “Want something?”  
           “Uh, sure,” replied Kenny. Kenny was standing near the wall next to Vernon. Neither boy was very comfortable talking to strange girls. They had been told to attend so they had. But no one said they had to do anything after that so the two had found an unoccupied wall fartherest from the action and had elected to stand and wait until the dance ended.  
           Vernon circled around the dancers making his way to the food. He stared without interest at the huge variety of snacks. Vegetables and dip, potato and corn chips with more dip, crackers, biscuits of all kinds, deviled eggs, little square sandwiches made of…whatever, small rounds of bread piled high with something white and topped with bits of red and black, gray-green pellet looking things, dainty little cubes of chocolate…  
           Vernon grabbed a couple of the small plates provided and started to fill them with random food items. It was something to do. He absently popped one of the rounds of bread in his mouth. He chewed a couple times and then froze. He remembered eating this stuff before, in the limo with Cousin Harry! Would he ever see Cousin Harry again? _“Dad shouldn’t have yelled at Cousin Harry so,”_ thought Vernon regretfully while remembering the noise at the front door. Whatever had happened to Holly, Vernon was certain it was not Cousin Harry’s fault. And now they would never know the details...not that he really wanted to. But by shutting out Cousin Harry, they had lost not only Holly but Cousin Harry and Albus too—or not. Dad had been emphatic that mum not communicate in any way with those people, but he hadn’t given Vernon the same orders. Of course, dad didn’t know Vernon had been writing Holly and cousin Albus while at school. Perhaps Vernon could still write to Albus through the Smiths like he had done last year and maybe Albus would write back… It was something to think about. Vernon hastily transferred all his bread rounds to Kenny’s plate. He didn’t want additional reminders of Holly and Cousin Harry tonight.  
           Vernon finished filling both plates with food and started back across the gym. Looking up, he stopped. Kenny was no longer standing near the wall where he had been before. Vernon scanned the hall. He finally found Kenny in the center of the gym dancing! Vernon stared in disbelief. The girl Kenny was dancing with was hot! Her blonde hair was bound up in a twist and piled high on her head. A simple string of pearls ornamented her neck. The pale blue sleeveless ball gown she wore emphasized her tiny waist and the cape attachment fastened in graceful folds at her neck and draped elegantly over her slender body. Long matching gloves covered her hand and arms and matching shoes peeked out beneath the gown.  
           Vernon gulped and swallowed feeling pangs of jealousy. How dare Kenny have fun while Vernon felt so bad! But then Vernon remembered that it wasn’t Kenny’s sister who had died. Why shouldn’t Kenny enjoy himself, if possible?  
           Vernon stepped quickly to the nearest wall and looked uncertainly at the two plates of food he held. “Here” he suddenly said handing the extra plate to the lone girl also standing with her back to the wall. She had long thick bangs and wore a simple pale pink calf length party dress that flared out at the waist. Her short black hair was tied up with a matching pink headband and bow.  
           “Huh?” she said looking suspiciously at the plate thrust under her nose.  
           “I, uh, got these for my friend, but, uh, he doesn’t need it any more…” Vernon explained self-consciously while looking out at Kenny dancing. “I don’t need two plates, so you can have it. Uh, that is if you’d like,” Vernon added uncertainly. Maybe she wasn’t hungry or someone else was getting her food… Then it occurred to him that he didn’t know the girl, nor she him, and she’d have no reason to accept anything from him. “There’s nothing wrong with it or anything,” Vernon assured her hastily. “I swear. Of course the black and red stuff on top of the round pieces of bread have a fishy taste so maybe you shouldn’t eat them if you don’t like fish…” Vernon’s voice trailed off as he looked at the extra plate still in his hand that was piled high with bread rounds containing the fishy stuff. “Well, do you want it?”  
           The girl took the plate from Vernon. “Thanks,” she said softly. Then she carefully picked up one of the round pieces of bread that had red stuff on it and bit into it. “You’re right,” she told Vernon after she had chewed and swallowed the bite. “They do taste fishy. But I don’t mind fishy,” she added with a hint of a smile and took another bite.  
           Vernon smiled back. “Uh, my name’s Vernon,” he told her. “Vernon Wycliff.”  
           “Miranda Jones,” answered the girl. “You can stand here, if you want,” she offered nodding to the empty wall space next to her.  
           “Thanks,” replied Vernon. He stepped to the space next to Miranda, turned and stood with his back against the wall. Then Vernon picked up one of the square sandwiches and began eating while watching the dancers. He finished that sandwich and started another…  
           “Which one is your friend?” Miranda asked when Vernon had finished the second sandwich.  
           “That one over there,” said Vernon tilting his head to the right. “Dancing with that girl in the long blue dress and gloves…” There was only one girl wearing long gloves that Vernon could see. The music tempo had changed. Kenny and the girl were now in a tight embrace moving slowly back and forth.  
           “Oh.”  
           They continued to eat in silence. Then it occurred to Vernon he was thirsty. “Uh, want something to drink?” he offered.  
           “Sure.”  
           “What?”  
           “Anything’s fine,” Miranda replied. Just then, the dance ended. Instead of looking around and rejoining Vernon, Kenny and the girl moved off in the other direction. Vernon knew there was an enclosed garden out that way where students could be outside and still be part of the dance. “Looks like they like each other,” observed Miranda.  
           “Or she likes him,” replied Vernon.  
           “What do you mean?”  
           “Well, it looks to me like she was hanging on to Kenny rather tightly…” Vernon tried hard to not be jealous, but it hurt to see Kenny off with that girl obviously having a great time…  
           “It didn’t look like he was objecting too much.”  
           “Kenny’s polite!” protested Vernon defending his interpretation of what they had seen. “Of course he wouldn’t object.”  
           “He’s not gay is he?”  
           “Kenny? Gay? Of course not!” Vernon scoffed. “I mean I don’t think so,” Vernon amended uncertainly. “I mean, I’ve never actually asked and he’s never said…” Vernon fumbled for the right words. “Usually we mostly talk about school work and classes, not girls,” Vernon ended lamely.  
           “How long has he been your friend?”  
           “Two years, now,” replied Vernon.  
           “Then you’d know if he was gay,” Miranda said confidently, “so he’s not.”  
           “Oh.” Vernon looked down at his nearly empty plate and suddenly remembered he was going to get drinks. “Here, hold my plate, will you while I get some drinks,” he said handing his plate to Miranda. He walked back to the food, found the punch bowl and filled up a cup with punch. He set that cup down and picked up the second one.  
           Suddenly a piercing scream rent the air! Cup in hand, Vernon rushed to the sound.  
           **“He attacked me!”** a loud feminine voice wailed as Vernon hurried forward.  
           **“I did not!”** replied an equally loud male voice—Kenny’s voice! Vernon pushed his way between the other students and into the garden.  
           Kenny was standing in a small cleared area surrounded by students. Across from him was the girl in the blue dress. Her long blonde hair was undone, scraggly and down loose around her face; hairpins stuck out at awkward angles. Her make-up was smudged and her elegant blue gown was ripped at the neck and down one shoulder. The cape had torn loose and was on the ground. Her pearl necklace had broken and white pearl beads were scattered everywhere!  
           “What’s going on?” demanded Headmaster Harold Q. Portermeyer. He had muscled his way through the students and stood on the edge of the circle. Behind him came a tall, stern-faced elderly lady wearing gray rhinestone glasses and a mauve business suit and skirt.  
           “It was horrible!” began the girl in a sobbing voice. She rushed into the arms of the stern-faced lady. “Just horrible!” she sobbed.  
           “Now, now, Miss Ibbott,” said the stern-faced lady in a soothing voice. “Tell us what happened.”  
           “I didn’t do anything!” said Kenny.  
           “Yes you did!” accused Miss Ibbott. “It was stuffy inside,” she began. “He suggested we go outside to get some air… and then,” she broke into more sobs.  
           “Yes, go on,” encouraged the stern-faced lady.  
           “Then he said he wanted to, to _snog!”_ Miss Ibbott started crying some more.  
           “No!” said the stern-faced lady with indignation.  
           “I did not!” asserted Kenny.  
           “Let her speak!” commanded the stern-faced lady. “Go on,” she encouraged hugging Miss Ibbott protectively.  
           “Well,” sniffed Miss Ibbott, “I didn’t want to snog—I mean I don’t do that sort of thing! I’m not that kind of girl, and I told him that—but, but he wouldn’t give up. He said all girls wanted to snog no matter what they said and he grabbed my waist and pulled me close. I tried to push him away, but he just held me tighter and tighter and put his lips on mine… That’s when I screamed and pushed with all my might… And—my dress!” She wailed looking down at her clothes and modestly pulled up the torn piece trying to cover her bare shoulder. “And my grandmother’s necklace!” she added in distress looking at the ground. “What’ll I do?”  
           “That’s not how it happened!” stated Kenny.  
           “You expect me to believe that a proper young lady from Worchester deliberately lied when the evidence I see speaks otherwise?” retorted Headmaster Portermeyer angrily.  “How dare you assault one of the fine ladies of Worchester!” he rebuked. “Mr. Montague?” he commanded loudly.  
           “Yes, sir,” Montague stepped promptly into view.  
           “Escort Miss Ibbott back to her room and see that she arrives safely.”  
           “Yes, sir,” said Montague smartly. He removed his jacket and placed it protectively around Miss Ibbott’s shoulders. “Come along, Miss Ibbott,” he murmured gently. “I’ll keep you safe,” he added and glared pointedly at Kenny. Still sobbing loudly, Miss Ibbott walked under the protective arms of Montague.  
           “And you!” began Headmaster Portermeyer again facing Kenny, “I know this was your first dance, but you should have known better! I expected more of our Smelting boys.”  
           “I didn’t do it!” denied Kenny again.  
           “We’ll discuss that later!” retorted the Headmaster. “Mr. Trevors!” he called.  
           “Yes, sir?” Trevors rapidly came into view. He was never far away from Montague. “See that Mr. Perkins makes it to his room and remain with him until I call for him!”  
           Trevors reached out and grabbed Kenny’s arm. “Come on!” he told Kenny gruffly and pulled him towards the door.  
           “I don’t need your help!” retorted Kenny while shaking free of his grasp.  
           “After you, then,” replied Trevors while taking a step back. He waited for Kenny to begin moving forward and then gave Kenny a not too gentle shove forward.  
           Vernon turned and followed.  
           “This is not a sideshow, Mr. Wycliff,” said Headmaster Portermeyer sharply. “And you shall not turn it into one. I am sure the two are more than capable of making it back without an audience or your assistance…”  
           Vernon stopped and turned towards the headmaster, “But—”  
           “This is not your business, Mr. Wycliff,” reminded the headmaster. “Remain and make yourself useful like collecting all the pearls from Miss Ibbott’s necklace,” he suggested, more of an order, actually.  
           “Yes, sir,” said Vernon automatically while anxiously watching the vanishing figures of Trevors and Kenny.  
           ”And the rest of you,” continued the headmaster loudly, “the show’s over! This is a dance and there is music playing in the next room… Move it!” The other students obediently filed out leaving Vernon in the garden with the headmaster and the stern-faced woman. Vernon sighed, knelt and began to pick up the beads. He put them in the empty cup he was carrying.  
           “I must extend my deepest apologies, Mrs. Mottershed,” began Headmaster Portermeyer addressing the stern-faced lady. “I had no idea he would behave that way… You can be sure we will take care of this matter appropriately!”  
           “I should hope so!” replied Mrs. Mottershed primly. “To think that someone from Smeltings would ever—”  
           “He’s a scholarship student,” interrupted Mr. Portermeyer dismissively by way of an explanation, “You do what you can to teach proper manners to one like that but it isn’t always successful!”  
           “True,” agreed Mrs. Mottershed sounding slightly mollified. “But I shall expect a complete report on how you handle this. This kind of behavior cannot be just swept under the rug!”  
           “Agreed.”  
           Vernon stood up with his cup of beads. “Here,” he muttered to no one in particular.  
           “Thank you,” said Headmaster Portermeyer. “Now, get back to the dance,” he ordered while taking the cup from Vernon. “See that Miss Ibbott receives this,” he said to Mrs. Mottershed while holding out the cup.  
           “I will,” she said taking the cup.  
           Vernon started towards the door and then spotted one more bead. He picked it up, turned and started back towards the two.  
           “Well?” questioned the Headmaster sharply. “What are you still doing here, Mr. Wycliff? Out!”  
           Vernon pocketed the bead rather than explain why he was still there and returned to the dance room.

**********

          Vernon found a space near the door and stood against a wall looking vacantly at the dancers in the gym. The music and the dancing continued as if nothing important had just occurred. What would happen to Kenny? Vernon was certain he wasn’t lying but how could they convince anyone of that? How could that girl have lied so? Why?  
           Suddenly Vernon felt his arm nearly yanked out of its socket as his wrist was grabbed and jerked forward. “Why so glum?” a merry voice asked. “Come dance!”  
           Stumbling forward to keep his balance, Vernon found himself on the dance floor facing a pretty redhead girl with bangs and her hair done up high. She wore a strapless pale green gown with an emerald green pendant at her neck. Not letting go of Vernon, she pushed and pulled him into proper ballroom dance position and began to move to the beat of the music. Vernon automatically kept his feet moving in time mostly to avoid being stepped on or stepping on the girl.  
           “I just love dancing, don’t you?” The girl smelled of flowers, felt very warm and uncomfortably close.  
           "Uh.” Vernon had never before danced with anyone except in the dance classes with broomsticks for partners…  
           “Don’t you wish the music could go on forever?” she asked in a steady stream of patter not waiting for an answer. They danced for several minutes that way with the girl talking non-stop. Finally, she paused for breath and then said, “You don’t talk much do you?”  
           “Uh, no,” Vernon managed to say.  
           “That’s OK,” replied the girl easily. “I like to talk. That boy a friend of yours?” Vernon stiffened at her words. “The one they took off to his room?”  
           “Yeah,” Vernon replied warily.  
           “Too bad,” said the girl. “He’s in big trouble.”  
           “He didn’t do it!” asserted Vernon positively.  
           “It’s nice of you to be so loyal,” replied the girl, “but facts are facts. He assaulted her for sure! That’s serious. He could be expelled for that!”  
           “Yeah,” agreed Vernon worriedly.  
           “He didn’t look to be a bad sort, though…” mused the girl. “First time offense maybe? Am I right? Didn’t know better… Willing to learn from his mistakes? Of course… There might be a way out…”  
           “How?”  
           “Well, Vanessa’s pretty upset right now, but she’s rather reasonable once she cools off. I bet if your friend apologized properly and paid for the stuff he ruined she’d be willing to forget the whole thing…”  
           “She would?”  
           “Sure! But it’s got to be done quickly before things blow out of proportion!” The music stopped and the girl let go of Vernon’s wrist. “You’ll tell him that, won’t you?” she asked. Vernon nodded. “Great!” the girl flashed a cheerful smile. She slipped a folded piece of paper in Vernon’s hand. “Give me a call,” she volunteered, “and I’ll set it up. Thanks for the dance!” she added brightly and moved off.  
           Vernon stuffed the paper into his pocket as he made his way back to the wall. This time he selected an empty chair behind a bunch of other chairs and sat down. That would make it harder for someone to drag him up to dance… At the same time, Vernon wondered how much a ball gown and necklace cost. He knew Kenny hadn’t done anything, but perhaps it would be easier to pay her off and end this nightmare…  
           “Here,” said Miranda. She sat down next to Vernon and held out his plate partially filled with food and a cup full of punch. Vernon hadn’t seen her come up or sit down but then he wasn’t seeing much of anything as he was too busy worrying about Kenny.  
           “Thanks,” said Vernon absently while taking the cup and plate.  
           “That girl,” began Miranda quietly, “the one you were dancing with…”  
           “Yeah?” Vernon’s eyes automatically searched out the redhead and found her on the floor dancing with an upperclassman.  
           “She’s Ibbott’s best friend.”  
           “She is?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “Oh.” Vernon watched the redhead lean close to her partner and wondered how that knowledge changed things.  
           “I just thought you should know,” added Miranda.  
           “Oh.” Then, “Why are you telling me?”  
           Miranda took a sip from her cup before answering. “I don’t like Yoxall,” she said bluntly obviously meaning the redhead. “Don’t like Ibbott either,” Miranda added after a moment. “But I do like caviar...”  
           “Huh?”  
           “The red and black fishy tasting stuff,” Miranda explained with a smile, “caviar. I love caviar. Well, I’ve got to be going,” she added while standing up. “Watch your step with them,” Miranda advised and walked off.

**********

           “Hey Wycliff, I’ve got something for you!” Montague said in a mocking voice.  
           “What?” Vernon asked looking up from his books at the arrogant person standing inside his room. Montague had barged into the room without so much as a “knock.” That was not too surprising. The door wasn’t locked. Kenny had been suspended pending a hearing to be held later that week. Vernon had to bring him all his assignments. Trevors and Pittman enthusiastically “checked up” on the whereabouts of Kenny frequently to insure he didn’t “skip out.” It was just easier to keep the door unlocked rather than bounce up and down to unlock and open the door whenever they showed up.  
           “It’s from Deidre!” Montague sang out.  
           “Who?” asked Vernon genuinely confused.  
           “Deidre!” repeated Montague. “You know, that luscious redhead you hooked up with at the dance!” he explained with a knowing grin on his face. Montague held out a dainty pink envelope with Vernon’s name written neatly on it.  
           “Oh,” replied Vernon and he felt his face flush with embarrassment. He had only danced with her once and then only because she suggested it and already the whole school knew they’d been together and thought other things about the encounter… Vernon took the envelope from Montague’s outstretched hand. “It’s open,” commented Vernon when he turned the envelope over and noted the broken seal.  
           “Of course,” replied Montague without a trace of guilt. “I was curious.” Vernon pulled out the folded pink paper. “It’s the cost of replacing the gown and restringing the pearls,” Montague informed him before Vernon could completely unfold the paper. “She said you’d understand…” Vernon swallowed uncomfortably when he saw the amounts written on the page. Wordlessly he handed the paper to Kenny. Kenny had been sitting at his desk drafting an essay but had stopped what he was doing to watch the exchange.  
           “It’s pretty expensive!” commented Montague out loud, “but then the good dresses are… So are pearls,” Montague added blandly. “Several were missing and had to be replaced…”  
           “I didn’t do it!” protested Kenny looking up from the paper.  
           “That’s not the way Vanessa tells it,” replied Montague. “And she’s got a real convincing story of how you wanted to kiss a “fine” lady at least once in your life and wouldn’t take “no” for an answer… Why would she deliberately destroy something that costly? Fess up!” encouraged Montague. “We all know you did it. You’d be better off admitting it like a man and cutting your losses while you can!” Montague moved closer. “Tell you what,” he began in a confidential tone. “I’m feeling generous today. I know you can’t afford this, so I’m willing to help out—in the interest of saving the good name of Smeltings. You write out that apology and shell out 100 pounds of this, I know you can manage that much, and I’ll cover the rest, in exchange for that ring of yours, Wycliff.” Vernon instinctively covered the star sapphire ring on his finger with his other hand. He’d gotten it with Albus and Albus’ brother James had fixed it so it would light up at night… “Think it over!” laughed Montague, “but not for long. The offer’s only good for today…” And Montague sauntered out of the room leaving Vernon and Kenny alone.  
           Kenny stood up and slammed the door shut angrily while Vernon looked guiltily down at his ring. “Don’t even think about it!” Kenny told Vernon fiercely. “I’m not letting you give up your ring! This is my problem not yours! I’ll find a way out of it!”  
           “It’s only a ring,” protested Vernon. “I can get another. I can’t stand by and do nothing!”  
           “It’s not just a ring,” argued Kenny. “It’s _blackmail_ for something I didn’t do! I wouldn’t pay even if I _could_ afford it and I’m certainly not going to let you pay for me!”  
           “But Montague’s right,” countered Vernon. “She a very convincing liar! I’d believe her myself if I didn’t know you. By the time she finishes talking they’ll expel you for sure!”  
           “And what guarantees do we have that she won’t do that anyway?” replied Kenny. “She could take that money, refuse to change her story or deny having received it in the first place just as convincingly. Montague could take your ring and do the same!”  
           “But she said—”  
           “I know what you said she said,” interrupted Kenny. “But this Deidre didn’t make any promises and she can’t guarantee someone else’s actions. You also said she’s a friend of this Vanessa. She could be lying just as much as Vanessa. I’ll just have to think of something else!”  
           _“We’ll_ just have to think of something else,” replied Vernon grimly. He had lost his sister and he wasn’t about to loose his only friend too.

**********

          Vernon slid onto the seat across from Kenny. They had selected an empty booth next to the wall. Vernon sat so he could see the door and the people as they entered. Vernon had never visited this particular café before; it was not the sort the sort of café he would have ever selected, but he hadn’t suggested the location. The lights were dim, mostly from candles but some lights shone behind dark colored bits of glass and a creepy sort of heavy metal music sounded in the background. Most of the people had dark hair but some of the hair had been died creating vivid stripes of color, red, purple, green.... Everyone wore black colored clothing or black combinations, and Vernon saw people with silver jewelry poking out of their faces.  Vernon tried hard to not stare at the waitress who asked for their order. In stark contrast to the rest of the people there, she wore a long _white_ filmy gown of some sort, had long straight _white_ hair, unnaturally _white_ skin, spiky ears, a pierced eyebrow and three lip rings! Vernon felt totally out of place in his red and tan sweater and jeans and was glad he had Kenny with him. Now, if only Miranda showed up.  
           Kenny and Vernon had arrived at the café a few minutes early. Vernon had scanned the customers already there when they entered and didn’t see anyone familiar so they had gone ahead and sat down. Even though he had barely seen Miranda that night, Vernon was certain he would recognize her again, especially in a place such as this.  
           Five minutes past the designated time and no one had entered the café. The waitress brought their sodas; Vernon sipped on his anxiously. Would she come?  
           Ten minutes. One of the black haired persons from another table stood. Female, maybe. She turned and walked towards Vernon’s booth. Short black hair, long black bangs, pasty white skin, black lips, black eye shadow, black paint markings on her face (or were they tattoos?,) all black clothes, chains dangling from the pants… Was that a black straight jacket on top? It certainly looked like one, locks and all! There was no place beyond their booth; the girl was obviously headed towards them! Vernon braced for some sort of confrontation… Then, “Miranda?” he asked in disbelief.  
           “Yeah,” she answered pulling up a chair and sitting down at the end of the booth table across from both of them.  
           “You, ah, look, ah, _different!”_ Vernon managed to stammer out. Were those _vampire_ teeth?! They couldn’t be, could they? She hadn’t had them before… Vernon was certain of that! How could she have them now?  
           “They made me wear … _pink_ … at the dance!” Miranda replied with obvious distaste.  
           _“And do other things as well,”_ Vernon thought while managing to close his mouth.  
           “I didn’t do it!” said Kenny earnestly. He obviously wasn’t as bothered by Miranda’s appearance as Vernon was. Of course, Kenny hadn’t seen Miranda at the dance or realized what a transformation it was… _“She’s_ the one who wanted to go outside to cool off,” continued Kenny, “and when we got there, she turned to me and said, “Fancy a snog?” Just like that she said it, “Fancy a snog?” Well, I didn’t know what to do, I mean I didn’t even know her, and when I said, “No,” the next thing I knew was she was screaming like a banshee, messing her hair, and tearing her clothes! I didn’t do it,” repeated Kenny, “I swear!”  
           “Probably not,” agreed Miranda neutrally. “Why tell me?”  
           “Because we need your help to prove it,” replied Vernon bringing his mind back to why they were there in the first place. “Will you help us?”  
           “Maybe,” she said cautiously. “How?”

**********

          Kenneth Kevala Perkins stepped carefully into the visiting parlor of the Worchester Ladies Academy. He was carrying a huge vase containing a large bouquet of flowers. He didn’t want to destroy the arrangement and it was hard to see around it to move.  
           “Well, well,” purred the voice of Vanessa Ibbott. “Isn’t this a surprise. They’re lovely. You really do want to make amends, don’t you?”  
           “I told you he didn’t mean it,” came a second voice. Looking through the stems Kenny saw that the voice belonged to an attractive redhead girl, most likely Deidre Yoxall.  
           “I’ll, uh, just set these down here,” said Kenny moving to a small table to one side of the room. He placed the vase on the table carefully turning the vase and arrangement so the flowers could be viewed at their best angle. Then he stepped a bit in front of the flowers and faced Miss Ibbott.  
           “Thank you,” said Vanessa. Miss Ibbott looked as attractive as before. Her long blonde hair was pinned up with soft tendrils hanging down on either side of her face. She wore a shiny tailored emerald green blazer with tight fitting brown pants and green high-heeled shoes. A delicate white lacy button-up shirt peeked out beneath the blazer. Deidra wore a tailored sky blue blazer with tight green pants and a pink and green lacy shirt under the blazer and matching blue high-heeled shoes. Her red hair hung loose around her face but not a strand looked out of place.  
           “I believe you have something for me?” Vanessa said suggestively.  
           “Yes, miss,” said Kenny respectfully. He pulled out a sealed envelope and handed it to her. “I’m sorry your dress got torn,” he added politely. “It was a very pretty dress.”  
           Vanessa raised an eyebrow and looked at Kenny. “That’s not much of an apology,” she observed while she broke the seal and opened the envelope.  
           “I didn’t do it,” replied Kenny quietly. “I’m not going to lie.”  
           “There’s no money in here either,” she noted out loud.  
           “Yeah, about that,” began Kenny carefully. “Miss Yoxall gave my friend the impression that if I paid for the dress and the cost of restringing the beads you would see to it that all the charges would be dropped.”  
           “So?”  
           “Is that true?”  
           “True enough.”  
           “Would you tell the truth and clear my name?”  
           “Pay for the damages and I can fix it so you won’t be expelled,” assured Vanessa.  
           “I didn’t do it,” repeated Kenny. “I’m not going to pay for something I didn’t do.”  
           “Then why are you here?”  
           “To ask you to do the right thing and tell the truth.”  
           “I did tell the truth,” asserted Vanessa. Her eyes flashed dangerously. “You viciously attacked me and tore my things while I was trying to get away!”  
           “That’s not what happened and you know it,” replied Kenny calmly.  
           “Of course it is,” Vanessa affirmed. “Why would I tear up my own clothes, ruin my grandmother’s necklace and embarrass myself in front of the whole student body just to get you, a complete stranger, in trouble?” she added tartly.  
           “I’ve been wondering that myself,” replied Kenny. “Then I learned that your father cut your allowance in half this year and it occurred to me that you might feel in need of a bit of _extra_ spending money.” It turned out that Miranda didn’t like Vanessa _a lot;_ she was quite informative. “I figure you took me out to that garden, ripped up some cheap stuff and made a big scene so you could scare me into paying for everything,” concluded Kenny.  
           “You’re joking!” laughed Vanessa icily. “I would never destroy my own things!"  
           “But that’s just it,” countered Kenny. “They weren’t your own things, not really, so why not? That blue gown you looked so great in was worn by Miss Yoxall two years ago, at the Spring Ball.” Miranda was very observant, too. “I’m surprised you chose to wear it in the first place. I mean it’s like, _used!”_ (a major no-no in Vanessa’s world according to Miranda.) “Did you think no one would remember it? Did you give it to her or just lend it out?” questioned Kenny looking at Deidre. Deidre just stared back.  “Either way,” continued Kenny, “I’ve heard you hate to wear the same dress twice so besides being _used_ the gown was probably destined for some charity anyway so was no big deal to rip it up. And as for those pearls,” continued Kenny, “I’ve got a bead from that necklace.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white bead to illustrate. Vernon had given it to him.  “The paint is chipping off and there’s plastic underneath! Either your grandmother was very cheap or you weren’t wearing her very valuable _pearls_ that night! The expenses Miss Yoxall was kind enough to forward me specified the prices of a _new_ ball gown and the cost of replacing and stringing _real_ pearls which is why I think you were looking for lots of money not fair restitution.”  
           If looks could kill, Vanessa’s would. She gave a tight smile, folded up the card and returned it to the envelope. “I think my flowers need some water, DeDe,” she suggested in a polite sounding voice. “Perhaps you could go get some…” Deidre nodded and left the room closing the door behind her leaving Kenny alone with Vanessa.  
           “How _dare_ you embarrass me in front of my friend!” Vanessa spat out once they were alone.  
           “What embarrassment?” questioned Kenny calmly. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t already common knowledge. I mean if I could find out, anyone could.”  
           “Pay up now, in full,” she demanded, “or when I’m done with you, it won’t be expulsion. They’ll lock you up and throw away the key!”  
           “I didn’t touch you,” repeated Kenny firmly. “I didn’t destroy your things and I am not going to give you any money!”  
           “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Vanessa’s piercing scream deafened Kenny. He put his hands to his ears to block it. Before his eyes Vanessa continued screaming while she shook her head wildly around and used both hands to rip her lacy blouse open popping green buttons from her emerald blazer, sending tiny white buttons from the blouse flying revealing a dainty white camisole beneath. The door swung open.  
           “What happened?” asked Deidre rushing in. She was followed by Mrs. Mottershed and several other students.  
           “He did it to me again!” sobbed Vanessa loudly. “I thought he wanted to apologize, make amends and when you left he just grabbed me and started ripping!!!”  
           “You, you _Hooligan!”_ said Mrs. Mottershed angrily. “How dare you!”  
           “I didn’t do anything,” protested Kenny while trying to keep his voice calm. That scream was really unnerving. It had caught him totally by surprise the last time. Kenny hadn’t known what to do and had helplessly stood by while watching and listening in disbelief. He hadn’t really thought she’d do it again but wasn’t totally surprised either this time.  
           “How could you do this to me!” sobbed Vanessa loudly. “I _trusted_ you!”  
           “This has gone too far!” declared Mrs. Mottershed disgustedly. “You’re no proper Smelting student! I’m calling the authorities!” She grabbed Kenny tightly by the upper arm and physically hauled him out of the parlor. Kenny didn’t resist. No need to make things worse. Vanessa, Deidre and the other students all followed—all except one. That student took a minute to first remove something from the vase of flowers resting on the table before she left…

**********

           “Mrs. Mottershed is here to see you,” said the secretary to Headmaster Portermeyer.  
           “How can I help you?” Mr. Portermeyer asked looking up from his work.  
           “How can you help me?” asked Mrs. Mottershed in surprise. “But you requested I meet with you!”  
           “No, I didn’t,” replied Mr. Portermeyer.  
           “I did,” said Vernon speaking swiftly while stepping into the office behind Mrs. Mottershed. Actually, Miranda had called Mrs. Mottershed’s office and arranged the meeting while pretending to be Mr. Potermeyer’s secretary but Vernon didn’t want to involve Miranda’s name. Vernon had been standing in the outer office supposedly with a transcript question but had actually been waiting the arrival of Mrs. Mottershed.  
           “What is the meaning of this?” demanded Headmaster Portermeyer.  
           “Sir, I’ve come on behalf of my friend, Mr. Perkins,” replied Vernon politely. “He’s been falsely accused and I’d like to try to clear his name…”  
           Mr. Portermeyer sighed and seemed to roll his eyes. “I appreciate you wanting to help your friend, Mr. Wycliff,” he began, “but it’s no use. He’s gone too far…” Mrs. Mottershed nodded in agreement.  
           “I’d like you to see something first,” persisted Vernon, “something that might change your mind…” He held up the computer in his arms. “Please,” he added. “It’s important.”  
           Mr. Portermeyer looked questioningly at Mrs. Mottershed who gave a faint nod of her head. “Very well,” he sighed, “as long as we’re here… But it’s not going to change anything.”  
           “Perhaps,” agreed Vernon neutrally, “but I still want you to see it. Thank you, sir.” Vernon opened up the computer, and placed it on the desk angling it so they could both see. Then he slid a chair over so Mrs. Mottershed could sit and watch. When they were both ready, Vernon pressed the “play” mode of his computer…  
           The first part wasn’t much to look at—a close-up of a bunch of plant stems and a light blue fabric with buttons, but the sound came through loud and clear. “Well, well,” purred the voice of Vanessa Ibbott. “Isn’t this a surprise. They’re lovely. You really do want to make amends, don’t you?”  
           “What is this?” interrupted Mrs. Mottershed no doubt recognizing Vanessa’s voice.  
           Vernon hastily pressed “pause.” “Mr. Perkins didn’t do anything at the dance,” began Vernon explaining. “It seemed advisable that any future contact with Miss Ibbott should be recorded…”  
           “Does she know about this recording?” asked Mr. Potermeyer.  
           “Not to my knowledge, no, sir,” replied Vernon. Was it legal to tape people without their knowledge? Vernon didn’t know, didn’t care. They weren’t in a court… He pressed “play” again… and the recording continued.  
           Vernon pressed “stop” while Mrs. Mottershed was “escorting” Kenny out of the room. No need for them to see Miranda collecting the phone… He looked up at Headmaster Portermeyer and Mrs. Mottershed.  
           Mrs. Mottershed cleared her throat. “Who, um, has seen this?” she asked cautiously.  
           “Me, you, the headmaster here,” replied Vernon vaguely. “I was thinking of taking it to the station to show to the police and maybe get him out of gaol… Unless you can think of a better way…”  
           “There’s no need to bother them with this,” she said quickly. “I’m sure I can get the charges dropped without it…”  
           “Would you?” said Vernon with relief. “That would be great! And the hearing?” he added worriedly.  
           “That will be called off, of course,” assured Headmaster Portermeyer, “as is the suspension.” He turned to Mrs. Mottershed. “I would have never suspected such _un_ lady-like behavior of someone from Worchester if I hadn’t seen it myself! You will, of course, see that Miss Ibbott is properly disciplined?” asked Headmaster Portermeyer. “And I expect to receive a full report on how you handle it too,” he added stiffly, “I mean, this won’t be “swept under the rug,” so to speak will it?”  
           “No, no, of course not,” agreed Mrs. Mottershed sounding more than slightly embarrassed.  
           “If I may,” interposed Vernon. The two looked at him. “I know I have no right to involve myself in this but Kenny’s my best friend and what she did to him was like seriously evil!  
           “Evil?”  
           “Yes! Kenny is a scholarship student. He’s not rich but he works hard and he’s honest. Miss Ibbott destroyed Kenny’s reputation at the dance and then promised to take away his freedom and his standing at Smeltings if he didn’t lie and give her money. Lookit how much Miss Ibbott demanded Kenny pay in exchange for her dropping the charges,” continued Vernon taking a folded piece of pink paper out and handing it to Mrs. Mottershed. She frowned in disapproval at the amount. “You know what Kenny’s family makes,” Vernon added as he took the paper from Mrs. Mottershed and handed it to Headmaster Portermeyer. “Paying this kind of money would have ruined the whole family! Not paying it would have been just as bad because their eldest son would have been disgraced, and expelled or in gaol! That’s not much of a choice, sir,” he told them. “And because Kenny wouldn’t cave in and lie, he’s been called all sorts of names, suspended, threatened with expulsion, and gaoled! Whatever you do to this Ibbott lady had better be ten times worse! Otherwise, she’ll have gotten away with doing something terrible and will probably do it again at the first opportunity!”  
           “What would you suggest?” asked the headmaster curiously.  
           “Well, first of all, a proper letter of apology from Miss Ibbott would be in order,” Headmaster Portermeyer nodded in approval; Vernon knew he was into letters. “And she should be suspended for at least 8 days—double what Kenny got and then maybe face an expulsion hearing for her actions because that was the punishment Kenny was facing because of her words.” Mrs. Mottershed nodded thoughtfully. “Kenny’s not rich,” Vernon added, “but I hear Miss Ibbott is. She should be made to pay Kenny for all the trouble she’s caused him and pay big! Maybe 4 or 5 times the amount she wanted from him! Money talks and perhaps loosing some of it will make Miss Ibbott think twice before she falsely maligns another person...” Vernon paused to take a breath. “That’s what I would do,” he concluded.  
           “Well,” said Headmaster Portermeyer thoughtfully. “Thank you for your ideas. You’ve given us some things to think about. But I note the hour is late, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll have to act quickly to get Mr. Perkins released by dinner.”  
           “Yes, sir,” said Vernon. He folded up his computer and left the room closing the door behind him.

**********

           “To freedom!” said Vernon lifting his soda in a toast.  
           “Freedom!” echoed Kenny lifting his soda as well.  
           “Freedom!” agreed Miranda. The three clinked their glasses and took a drink.  
           They were in that weird café again. Miranda looked positively cheerful in her black suit and short full skirt, black tights, black lace-up platform boots and studded collar around her neck. Vernon and Kenny each wore their darkest clothes so they would blend in better and not look so out of place. Vernon still felt uncomfortably obvious but it didn’t matter. Kenny was free again and cleared of all charges. He had offered to treat Miranda to a celebratory dinner in appreciation of her help. The weird café was the eating establishment of her choice.  
           “Both Headmaster Portermeyer and Headmistress Mottershed were most apologetic about the whole thing while they were taking me back to Smeltings,” Kenny informed the two.  
           “I saw Ibbot leaving the Headmistress’ office when I left on my way for here,” commented Miranda. “She did not look happy. She was saying something about “calling dad,” as I passed,” she added.  
           “That’s not good,” muttered Kenny worriedly. “He’s going to want to see the recording! Can you make sure Miranda’s not in anything they see?” he asked Vernon.  
           “Of course,” replied Vernon confidently. He was good with computers. “But they’re going to know someone picked up the phone, and got it to me, someone from Worchester...”  
           Miranda shrugged and took a sip from her soda. “They shouldn’t have made me wear _pink...”_  
           “You’ll be careful, won’t you?” asked Vernon with concern.  
           “Yes,” assured Miranda. She took another sip and then asked the two about Smeltings, classes, professors and schoolwork…  
           “Um, I don’t suppose,” began Vernon hesitantly to Miranda when the meal was finished and Kenny had gone up the cash register counter to pay. “I mean, um, if there’s another dance, and they, uh, make us attend, and, like, I asked, would you, maybe, uh, dance with me?”  
           Miranda regarded Vernon thoughtfully with her black eyes before answering. “Yes,” she said simply and Vernon’s heart seemed to soar indescribably high with the prospects…


	5. Chapter 5

          “Thank you for coming,” said Minerva McGonagall warmly after opening the door and seeing Harry Potter on the other side. He gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. “Won’t you have a seat?” Minerva added backing up to let him in. Harry walked quietly into her office and moved towards an empty chair. Minerva studied Harry when he sat down. He seemed to have aged 10 years since she had last seen him. His face was grim and there were dark circles under his eyes. They still hadn’t found a cause for the explosion. Though there was no way he could have known or prevented it, Harry clearly held himself accountable for Holly’s loss.  
          Minerva moved to her chair and sat down next to Harry. There were four people in the room and the chairs were arranged in a small informal circle in front of her desk so everyone could look at each other without barriers. “You remember Professor Iverson, head of Hufflepuff House,” she began indicating the extremely tall lady wearing a robe of orange and black who sat across from her.  
          “Mr. Potter,” murmured Erlinda Iverson nodding to Harry. He nodded politely back.    
          “This gentleman sitting across from you is Mr. Clayton Eggleton,” Minerva continued with her introductions. “He is one of the Hufflepuff students involved with Miss Wycliff’s memorial.” Harry’s body seemed to stiffen at the mention of Holly. “A question has come up during the course of their discussion, something that, well, I think it best Mr. Eggleton explain,” finished Minerva. Harry looked at Clayton warily. Clayton looked stiff and uncomfortable. He’d only been in her office once before and wasn’t used to being the center of attention.  
          “Sir, thank you for coming,” began Clayton hesitantly. “Uh, we were looking through the list of things recovered from the, uh, accident, and uh, well, you were there when it happened right?” That was more of a rhetorical question. Of course he was there and everyone knew it!  
          The _Daily Prophet_ had printed a “first-hand” account of how Harry hadn’t said a word when the healers handed him the molten bracelet and a charred Muggle passbook bearing Holly Wycliff’s name. And Harry had watched “passively” while the Healers pulled an undamaged Gringotts key on a goblin chain off the chest of the dead child (according to the _Prophet_ it was literally "stuck" to the body .) The key and chain were given to Harry for inspection. Harry had wordlessly pocketed the two and Apparated away—apparently to Diagon Alley where he was spotted soon after entering Gringotts. The _Prophet_ criticized Harry calling him cold and mercenary thinking only of money at such a time. While Minerva guessed that there was some truth in the account of his actions, knowing the _Prophet,_ she was fairly certain that wasn’t the whole story. Remembering the confusion with Gringotts keys the previous year, Minerva suspected Harry had gone to double check the key and confirm it was indeed Holly’s. But that was only a suspicion. Harry wasn’t talking, of course, nor were the goblins at Gringotts, but the healers were furious at the breach of the privacy within a Healer tent and still trying to find the source.  
          Clayton pulled out what looked to be a small piece of paper and handed it to Harry. “Uh, did you see any of this at the, uh site?’ asked Clayton when Harry did not respond to his first question. Harry wasn’t talking much these days. He’d only been out in public once since the funeral and that was to join Ginny at the station to see his children off to Hogwarts. Minerva had to use all her powers of persuasion to get Harry to come this day.  
          Harry looked briefly at the piece of paper turning it over once before returning it to Clayton without comment. It wasn’t actually paper but a piece of tightly woven canvas, singed black on the edges. Minerva had seen it earlier when Clayton and Erlinda had come to her and ask that she arrange the meeting with Harry.  
          “That’s what I thought,” said Clayton taking the lack of response for a “no.” “That’s what Mr. Weasley said too,” Clayton added as he put the canvas into a small jar filled with other bits of canvas, “but I had to be sure. You see,” he began with more confidence, “Holly and I were up on the third floor doing a painting last year, after the House Cup dinner…   It was a very special painting; a life-sized portrait,” Clayton added, “of, uh, someone standing outside the, uh, trophy room…” Clayton wouldn’t say whose portrait they’d painted, but he didn’t need to. Minerva could easily guess given the location of where they did the painting and how Clayton kept on looking apprehensively at the wall above her head approximately where the portrait of Snape hung… She could tell Harry knew too. He looked at Clayton with more interest.  
          “When I say “life sized,” continued Clayton, “I mean _Life Sized_ —like 2½ by 1½ meters in size. And when we finished, I put every spell on the painting I could think of to protect it—water resistant, stain resistant, crack resistant, fade proof, _burn_ resistant… After that, we took it upstairs. Holly showed it to all her friends and then she shrunk the painting down and rolled it around her wand… her _extra_ wand…”  
_“…the one she got from Snape,”_ thought Minerva mentally filling in the gap in his story.  
          “She put the portrait and her wand in that wand carrier of hers, the one at her waist. Holly’s never without that wand _ever,”_ added Clayton informatively, “and Becky’s certain she had it with her at the Quidditch Match which means the portrait would have been with her too.” Clayton paused to take a breath.  
          Then he added self-consciously, “So I was surprised when it wasn’t listed among the things found afterwards. Eddie said it had obviously been destroyed but I was certain I had cast better protective spells than that. I couldn’t understand why there was nothing left of it after the explosion. I mean that Muggle passbook survived, but there weren’t even canvas bits in the ash… That bothered me so I got some duplicate sized canvases, painted them, cast the same spells and shrunk them down to wand size… We’ve spent all week blowing them up to see what happens.” Clayton shifted restlessly in his seat a moment, looked up again at Snape’s portrait briefly and then continued.  
          “We tried, but we couldn’t destroy any of them, not completely. An explosion can break the _reducto_ spell sir, and really strong explosions kind of rip the portrait apart as it expands. But the most we could do was reduce the canvas to tiny bits—like the ones you see in this jar…” Clayton pulled out a small clear jar from his pocket and handed it to Harry for his inspection. Clayton waited while Harry shook the jar and stared thoughtfully at the bits of canvas within. “A canvas the size of the one we painted leaves a lot of little tiny bits,” Clayton added softly.  
          When Harry looked up, Clayton finished by saying, “I don’t think it’s possible to destroy that portrait without leaving some trace, sir...” Clayton paused to let his words sink in. “At the very least, there would have been a lot of tiny bits,” he added, “they would have been hard to miss but nobody saw anything. That means the portrait wasn’t in the explosion. It couldn’t have been… That portrait meant a lot to Holly,” Clayton continued. “I can’t imagine she left it anywhere with anyone, except maybe you… Did Holly give that portrait to you?” Clayton asked seriously. “There would be no mystery if Holly didn’t have the portrait with her,” he explained. “There would be no portrait to explode.” Harry gave his head just the faintest of shakes. “What about her parents?” persisted Clayton. “Could Holly have given them the portrait or to someone else or maybe left it in her room at her house?” Harry stared at Clayton thoughtfully. Clayton didn’t say it but everything hinged on the location of that portrait and the only person who could check with the family about it was Harry. Clayton spoke again. “If Holly didn’t give it to anyone and she had it with her…” Clayton broke off and started again, “What I’m trying to say, sir, is if Holly had the portrait with her and the portrait wasn’t in the explosion then maybe…”  
          Abruptly Harry shot up out of his chair. “Excuse me,” he said in a low voice charged with energy, “but I’ve go to go!” He stepped swiftly towards the door and opened it. “Thanks,” he said as he tossed the jar of canvas bits to Clayton. Minerva saw a spark in Harry’s eyes that hadn’t been there when he arrived. Then Harry stepped outside and closed the door behind him.  
          “Well,” said Minerva breaking the silence that followed Harry’s sudden departure. “I believe Mr. Potter has come to the same conclusion we have…” If only there was some way to prove it. “I trust you will not mention any of this until there is some additional information to support the supposition…”

**********

          Laurel Wycliff was in the bathroom cleaning. She had just finished wiping the mirror dry and was in the process of shining the fixtures when a loud knock sounded at the door. She ignored the sound knowing that Dillon was in the living room and much nearer. He could answer the door. The knock persisted sounding louder and louder. Then it stopped and Laurel heard the door open.  
         “What do you think you’re doing!!!” she heard Dillon said angrily. **“NO!”** he shouted. **“Stop that!”**  
         Laurel dropped what she was doing and rushed to the living room. She arrived in time to see Harry Potter force his way into the house past Dillon who had clearly been trying to push the door shut to keep him out **! _“Get out of here now!”_** ordered Dillon furiously. “Or I’m calling the police, Harry, I mean it!”  
          Harry ignored Dillon and came to a stop in front of Laurel. “Your Healthstone!” he said staring at her with purple-rimmed eyes. “I need to see it!”  
          “It’s gone!” Dillon said flatly. “Destroyed! I smashed it into little pieces like I did to everything else connected with you and _your lot!_ Now, **_GO_ ** and never come back!”  
          “No!” argued Harry faintly. “It can’t—you wouldn’t,” he added speaking directly to Laurel. “Couldn’t! _Please!”_ he begged with a note of desperation. “I’ve _got_ to see it! It’s important!”  
          Laurel stared at Harry. He was pale and thinner than she remembered. Whatever else he was, Laurel was certain Harry had cared as much for Holly as they had. There could be only one reason he would actually _want_ to see that Healthstone… Perhaps? Without a word Laurel turned and started walking towards Holly’s bedroom.  
          “What are you doing?” demanded Dillon. Laurel ignored him and opened the door to Holly’s bedroom. “NO!” Dillon shouted as Laurel made her way to Holly’s bed. Laurel had kept the Healthstone in her purse before and Dillon knew that. While shopping for cleaning supplies, Laurel had purchased a new cosmetic bag and replacement cosmetics. Then, when Dillon wasn’t around, Laurel had removed her original cosmetic case where the pendant had been kept and placed it, unopened, along with the broken burned bits of Holly’s bracelet, under Holly’s pillow certain that if Dillon ever did hunt for the pendant, he would never disturb Holly’s room. She knew he would find even entering the room so filled with memories as difficult as she had. Laurel lifted the pillow and removed the zippered cosmetic bag. “I forbid you!” Dillon ordered when Laurel reappeared. But he didn’t stop Laurel from walking forward and placing the bag in Harry’s hands.  
          “It’s in there,” she told him and stepped back suddenly afraid of what they might learn.  
          “Thank you,” said Harry in his more usual quiet voice.  
          He unzippered the bag and placed his fingers inside. Laurel watched as he felt around between her various make-up containers and then withdrew the pendant, the stone hidden between his fingers, and its silver chain dangling free and loose. Harry curled his fingers around the pendant putting it tightly within the palm of his hand while he placed the opened cosmetic bag on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Then he straightened his arm and turned it so the fist, which held the pendant, was palm up in front of Laurel and Dillon. They watched silently as Harry’s fingers slowly opened revealing the pendant in his hand. It was shiny silver—the back.  
          Dillon’s hand suddenly reached out and clutched Laurel’s arm and she covered his hand with hers and pulled him closer. They watched as the trembling fingers of Harry’s free hand reached out and slowly turned the pendant over…

#  _The colour was light iridescence_

          “She’s _alive!”_ Harry pronounced with emotion and sank suddenly into the nearby chair.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 6-8 and 13 get intense...

          Holly opened her eyes. It was dark, but not so dark she couldn’t see. The ceiling above was low and plain. That seemed odd somehow and unfamiliar. A part of Holly wondered where she was that had low ceilings. She turned her head. The nearby wall was also plain and looked to be the same colour as the ceiling. That set off tiny alarm bells somewhere within… Holly looked to the source of light. She saw an open doorway with a gray coloured toilet beyond…  
           Holly sat up. This was not right! She did not recognize where she was—her hand automatically went to her waist, to her wand. Gone!!! _“NO!!!!!!”_ she thought in panic. _“What’s happened? Where am I?”_  
           Holly hastily scrambled out of bed and stepped to the other source of light—an open doorway. Looking beyond, she saw a bare room with gray walls and floor with no door or windows! She looked back at the first room—no other doors or windows! She ran into the bathroom, squeezed past the toilet, opened the tiny shower stall and looked inside—no door or windows there either! Where was she? More important, how could she get out?  
           Holly spent a long time inspecting her prison—for it could be nothing else with no doors or windows. So she looked for other less obvious ways out—invisible doors, hidden passages, trap-doors... The walls and floor felt soft and spongy, like the walls in the Defense Against the Dark Arts practice room. Her hands and knuckles left soft impressions in the wall as she searched for other forms of exits, impressions that vanished as soon as she removed her hand from the surface. The tiny mirror and sink were immovable in her grasp. What little furniture there was, a cot, table and chair, seemed to be glued in place—at least Holly couldn’t move them no matter how hard she tried.  
While she looked, Holly searched her mind desperately for some clue to explain her presence in the room. Where had she been? What had she last been doing? It took a while, but Holly finally remembered the Quidditch match and then leaving, but she couldn’t remember anything after that. What had happened? How had she gotten there? Holly had no idea.  
           Holly didn’t find any other exits but what she did find alarmed her even more, if possible. Underneath the tiny sink was a small drawer containing various toiletries, a hair brush with a gray handle and bristles, a gray tube of toothpaste, a gray toothbrush, small bar of gray soap, a gray washcloth, a gray hand towel… Under the cot Holly discovered a chest of drawers similar to the one in her dorm room at Hogwarts—except it was coloured gray. The chest contained a pair of gray socks like the ones she was wearing and a neatly folded gray jumpsuit, similar to the one she had on—she’d never worn a jumpsuit or gray socks before; how had they gotten on her? It was clear someone intended Holly to stay in this place, wherever it was, for a very long time!  
           Discouraged, depressed, and hungry, Holly gave up her search and approached the tiny gray table in the second room. A gray bowl sat on it and a gray spoon lay besides the bowl. The bowl was firmly attached to the table; Holly had already tried to move it without success. A thick gray liquid was in the bowl. It had to be some sort of food. It looked disgusting and matched, in colour, everything else in the place. Holly cautiously picked up the spoon. It felt soft and spongy, just like the floor and walls. On impulse, Holly twisted the spoon. It bent easily and sprang quickly back into its’ original shape when she let go. She dipped the spoon into the liquid and brought it to her mouth. _“UGH!”_ she thought immediately after tasting the stuff. It tasted as bad as it looked. Actually, it didn’t taste like much at all—flat and uninteresting. But there was nothing else to eat in the place and after a few spoonfuls, Holly felt less hungry.  
           When she had finished eating, Holly sat in the chair provided and considered her situation. Her initial panic had subsided considerably and she was able to think more clearly. She had obviously been captured by someone, most likely a dark witch or wizard, for no one else would do such a thing. Who or why, remained to be seen, but it probably had something to do with her being an Empath. Holly was also fairly certain she was alone at the moment and faced no immediate danger or threat but that could change at any minute. She tried to recall all the things her Auror friends had taught her about protecting herself from a Dark Wizard and hoped something she had learned would help her now. Then she looked around trying to decide what to do next.  
           Finally Holly stood and walked near one of the walls. Using her best Tang Soo Do kick Holly sank her foot deep into the wall. The effort left an imprint that vanished soon after her foot left the surface! Striking the walls with her hands left similar impact and created no lasting damage to either herself or the wall. Again and again Holly struck the wall. It wasn’t easy to do—the room was small and the table stuck in the middle hampered proper form but Holly kept at it until the muscles in her arms were shaking with fatigue and she was too tired to stand. Then she collapsed against the wall and fell into an exhausted sleep.  
           Holly woke in the same position leaning up against the wall. She looked about. Nothing seemed to have changed, not even the lighting. She rose feeling stiff and sore. Holly stretched out doing as many of her Tang Soo Do exercises as she could manage in the confined space. Then, feeling hungry again, she ate a few more spoonfuls of the gray stuff. She noted with interest that the level of the stuff in the bowl seemed to stay the same height.  
           Walking carefully, Holly carried spoon after spoon of the stuff to the bathroom sink and dumped it. The level in the bowl remained the same. Then Holly spilled some of it onto the table. To her surprise, the liquid seemed to soak into the table and vanish. Holly touched the table where the liquid had fallen and could feel no trace of it. She spooned more and more of the stuff onto the table making puddles and squiggles and lines with the liquid and they all vanished quickly into the surface of the table. Then Holly dripped some stuff onto the floor. The liquid soaked in and vanished from that surface as well. After that, Holly carefully carried a filled spoon to the nearest wall. She flicked the contents onto the wall. It splashed and then soaked into the wall leaving no trace.  
           Then Holly carefully carried a spoon full of stuff to her cot and poured it onto a corner of her cot. It soaked in and vanished leaving the gray blanket clean and dry… Of course, Holly couldn’t be sure about the clean part. The colour of the gray liquid had blended in perfectly with the colour of the blanket and her sheet but it felt dry and given how the other surfaces had reacted to the liquid Holly was fairly certain no trace of the stuff remained.  
           When Holly tired of dropping the contents of the bowl onto other surfaces, she did Tang Soo Do exercises until tired. Then she ate some more stuff and tried to practice Occlumency. Emptying her mind was easy, refilling it with something she loved was harder. Somehow the overwhelming gray of the place seemed to fill her mind making it difficult to picture and think of those she loved. _“Where were they? What were they doing? Would they find her?”_  
           When she felt tired enough, Holly went to the cot; it was darker there. She lay down and went to sleep.  
           Holly soon lost all sense of time. She slept, woke, ate, worked out, tried to think of something else to do while awake—singing, pacing, multiplication tables, reciting spells, herb names and uses… and slept some more. Sometimes she slept on the floor in the lit room, sometimes on the cot. It didn’t matter.  
           One time she opened her eyes to the usual darkness, sat up, made her way to the lit room for food and froze—someone was sitting in the chair! Someone looking at her!  
           Holly’s heart gave a little leap when she saw the emerald green colour of the wizard robe the person wore, but not for long. The person sitting in the chair was not Headmaster Snape. This person was hooded. He was an older person, but not as old as the Headmaster. The person had fair skin, blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He was seated comfortably in the chair and looked as if he had been there a while. The gray bowl and spoon were gone. The person’s white hands were casually clasped resting on the table where the bowl would have been. A dark knobbly wand lay tantalizing on the table in front of his hands.  
           “Who are you?” Holly asked warily.  
           The person’s blue eyes seemed to bore directly into Holly. Instinctively she thought of someone she loved— _“Daddy!”_ her mind cried out. A fuzzy shape of her father seemed to form in her mind only to be replaced by the faceless gray colour that surrounded her but the piercing sensation seemed to stop.  
           “You may call me “Sir,” the person replied calmly.  
           “Where am I?” asked Holly.  
           “Where am I, _Sir,”_ replied the person calmly.  
           “Where am I?” persisted Holly.  
           “Where am I, _Sir,”_ repeated the person. He looked at Holly expectantly with a half smile on his lips and intense blue eyes.  
           Holly stared at him blankly. _“Oh,”_ she thought dumbly. _“He expects manners.”_  
           “Where am I, _sir?”_ Holly repeated aloud while heavily emphasizing the word “sir.”  
           “You are here,” replied the person who called himself “Sir” without further explanation.  
           _“Duh!”_ thought Holly. “That’s not an answer, _sir,”_ she said aloud.  
           Sir smiled. “You are _home,”_ he told her instead.  
           “This is _not_ my home,” Holly retorted. No answer. Holly rolled her eyes. “This is not my home, _sir!”_ Holly repeated angrily.  
           “It is now.”  
           “No, it is not!” Holly persisted. No answer. “No, it’s not, _sir,”_ repeated Holly, “I want to go home, _my_ home! _SIR!”_  
           “Sir” smiled at her words. It was smug and annoying. “There was an accident,” he told Holly patiently, “an explosion, actually,” he added softly. “The body of Miss Holly Ann Wycliff was pulled from the rubble.”  
           Holly stared at him. “I’m not dead,” Holly told Sir stating the obvious.  
           “Of course you are,” replied Sir easily. “The healers never mention it but there are an abundance of spells out there that can make one _sick!_ A little indigestion to keep you moving, a pre-dressed Muggle waiting to take Polyjuice at the right time and a very impressive portkey explosion. They never noticed the difference!”  
           “I don’t believe you!” Holly said bluntly though a part of her did believe, at least some of it; what Sir said fit with her memories of the World Cup and it made sense! But an explosion? Holly wasn’t so certain she believed that.  
           “Sir” smiled again. “You should,” he told her. “A memorial service has already been held in your memory,” he continued calmly. “It was very nice. The people you once considered friends and families have all moved on with their lives, as should you. This is _now_ your home.”  
           _“It isn’t!”_ persisted Holly stubbornly in her mind but not aloud. “Why am I here, _sir?”_ Holly asked instead.  
           “You are here because I wish it,” came the answer, that smug smile remained on his face. Sir’s wand lay tantalizing just out of reach. Holly wanted to charge forward and grab that wand, but she didn’t; she had a feeling Sir was waiting for her to try just that… “I’ve a present for you,” Sir added. He unlaced his clasped fingers. One hand remained on the table near, but not touching, the wand. His left hand reached beneath his robe and brought out an apple, a shiny red apple that appeared all the more red in contrast with Sir’s green suit. Holly could almost smell it from where she stood. Sir set the apple on the table in front of the wand.  
           “What do you want?” Holly asked bluntly while ignoring the apple and staring instead at the wand behind it. Sir merely smiled expectantly at Holly. “What do you want, _sir!”_ Holly angrily asked again.  
           “Your complete cooperation in all matters,” replied Sir calmly. “If you do, then perhaps you can receive more gifts…” he looked down suggestively at the apple on the table and than back at Holly with a satisfied smile on his face. Then, with his right hand, Sir picked up the wand on the table, waived it and vanished without a sound. Holly was again alone in the room.

**********

          Holly hugged herself tightly while she stared at the space where Sir had been. He had Apparated without a sound! That was unnerving. How long he had been sitting there, waiting for her to enter the room? She hadn’t heard a thing! Worse, she hadn’t sensed anything either! Had he, like Umbridge, been using a disillusionment spell and watching her all along—at the match, here while she worked out, paced this place, while she slept? Holly shivered; she felt totally violated just at the thought.  
           Perhaps he hadn’t really there at all. Maybe he was a product of her imagination—a new kind of flashback! But Holly doubted that. Her flashbacks had repeated events in the past not held conversations with her. Besides, she had been certain whoever did this to her would eventually make his presence known and he had. But perhaps he hadn’t been actually there—a projection of some sort… Holly stepped cautiously forward and picked up the apple. Yes, he had definitely been there. Her imagination could not have created this apple. It was solid, ice cold and smelled positively wonderful!  
           Holly’s fingers curled lovingly around the shape of the apple… Then she hurled it with all the force she could muster straight at the wall! “Who do you think you are promising me apples for cooperation?” she told the apple as it hit the wall. “Do you think I can be bribed by a bit of food?” she asked as she watched the apple sink into the wall instead of sliding down to the floor. “I did not spend all that time trying to learn how to defend against dark wizards to cave in at the first obstacle!” she shouted defiantly at the vanishing apple. “I defeated Lord Voldemort! I can defeat you!!!” Holly yelled at the empty wall.  
           Then Holly sank down to the floor, curled herself up into a tight ball under the table and began to sob. For she hadn’t defeated Lord Voldemort, not really, not without help and Headmaster Snape wouldn’t be here for her, not this time…

**********

           Time again lost all meaning. Holly pretty much did as she had done before, except now she would randomly kick and punch the air in places she usually didn’t visit in case someone was there she didn’t know about using a disillusionment charm. Thoroughly bored, Holly found herself waiting anxiously for Sir’s next arrival and plotting possible escape attempts. She had frozen in surprise at his initial arrival. Next time she would try to get close enough to use a Tang Soo Do move or two on him… Sir had left the wand untouched on the table; perhaps she could slide forward and snatch it should he do so again…  
           Then Holly woke to _emotions???_ Someone was in the other room! Holly hurriedly got off the cot and ran to see. Sir was standing in the corner watching with wand in hand. Holly froze in place. Sir wore the same green wizard robes and had a superior smug smile on his face. The smile on Sir’s face told Holly she’d made a mistake somehow—done something he wanted! Staring uncertainly around the room Holly realized it wasn’t Sir’s emotion she felt—the emotions were in the wrong direction and female! In addition, the emotions seemed to come from behind the far wall.  
           “Can you sense emotions?” asked Sir in a silky voice.  
           “No,” replied Holly sullenly.  
           _“Crucio!”_  
           Holly found herself on the floor screaming in agony! It was over almost before it had begun. “Do not lie to me, ever!” said Sir coldly before Holly could catch her breath. “I … will … know!” Sir moved so he was in Holly’s line of eyesight while she lay on the floor. He squatted down. Holly could blearily see his black shoes and the green of his pants and the flowing green of his robes just tantalizing out of reach. “Shall we try this again?” he began in a patient sounding voice. “Can you sense emotions?” Holly closed her eyes trying to think what to do…  
           _“Crucio!”_ Holly screamed in pain! And then the agony stopped leaving Holly limp and exhausted. “You need to answer more promptly!” informed Sir coldly. “Can you sense emotions?” Holly forced her eyes open. The green of the wizard robes seemed to shift in front of her. _“Cr--!”_  
           “No!” Holly gasped out quickly before Sir could finish the spell, “I mean yes!” Holly managed to add between panting gasps of air.  
           “Which is it?” questioned Sir persistently.  
           “Give me,” gasp “a chance,” gasp “to get my,” gasp “breath,” Holly choked out.  
           “Which is it?” questioned Sir again after a moment.  
           “Yes,” Holly answered.  
           “Yes, what?” persisted Sir.  
           “Yes, I can sense emotions!”  
           “You can sense emotions, _Sir,”_ reminded Sir in a gentle but firm voice.  
_“Sir,”_ echoed Holly defeatedly. There was no point in arguing over a stupid word. If it meant that much to him, let him have it!  
           “Sir, what?” persisted Sir calmly. The green fabric of the robe rustled in front of her suggestively.  
           “I can sense emotions, _sir,”_ repeated Holly dejectedly.  
           “Very good,” replied Sir with satisfaction. Holly could hear the triumph in his voice.  
           “Can you sense my emotions?”  
           “What?” Holly looked up at Sir’s expressionless face.  
           “You heard me,” said Sir regarding Holly intently with his cold blue eyes. “Can you sense my emotions?”  
           “No,” whispered Holly reluctantly. Even though she was fairly certain Sir knew she couldn’t sense him, she didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to admit it.  
           Sir raised his eyebrow. “No, what?” he reminded her in a gentle voice but his eyes were anything but benign.  
           “No, _sir,”_ replied Holly automatically knowing what he wanted.  
           “Whose emotions do you sense?” Sir questioned calmly.  
           “I don’t know,” replied Holly, “that’s the truth, I swear!” she added quickly. “Uh, sir,” she added as an afterthought.  
           Sir smiled at her, clearly pleased at her use of the word “sir.” He stood and backed away. “Stand up,” he told Holly.  
           He waited quietly while Holly slowly rolled onto her knees and stood. She used the time to try to think what to do next. Cooperating only helped Sir with whatever plans he had for her. She didn’t want to do that, but was there any point in refusing to do what he said while he stood out of reach with that wand and could make her move like a marionette if he wished? Better to wait until she had an opportunity to actually do something. But what?  
           “Where is this other emotion?” questioned Sir while watching Holly closely. Holly hesitated. She thought she knew what Sir was up to now; he was trying to learn the extent of her abilities. Umbridge had hinted that while everyone knew she was an Empath, little else was known about her abilities; Headmaster Snape had implied to Lord Voldemort that Holly could be “trained” for his purposes—Sir couldn’t “train” or use Holly for his purposes without first knowing what she could do…  
           What did he already know? What could she hide from him? What if she tried to conceal knowledge that he already knew she had? The consequences promised to be severe. Was it worth it? Should she if she could? How would hiding things help her situation?  
           “Think carefully before you speak,” warned Sir. He held his wand firmly in his hand and his eyes glittered dangerously. “I expect total cooperation in all matters,” he reminded in an uncompromising voice as if he could read all the thoughts that had just flitted through Holly’s mind… “And I will _know_ if you lie…”  
           Holly gulped. “The extra emotion is in the direction of the far wall, _sir,”_ she answered cautiously looking towards the wall indicated but careful to not point in any specific location…  
           “Where?”  
           “It’s a wall!” she said flatly. “Probably somewhere beyond…”  
           “Probably?” Holly was relieved Sir had, for once, quit insisting on use of that ridiculous “sir,” at the end of sentences.  
           “I doubt you would let anyone else in here under a disillusionment spell or invisibility cloak so whomever it is has got to be on the other side. If I got closer, I could give you a more definite answer,” she added. “May I, _Sir?”_ she asked, taking a step forward.  
           “By all means,” replied Sir with a superior sort of smile on his face.  
           Holly walked to the nearest corner of the wall in question. Her reply had been honest and logical, but _not_ the reason why she knew someone was beyond the wall. When she got close, Holly reached up, touched the wall, or rather she tried to. Her finger abruptly halted scarcely a centimeter from the wall and Holly felt herself blasted across the room! She crashed into the opposite wall and sank deeply within its spongy surface.  
           “I would not recommend you touch the wall,” advised Sir in an amused voice.  
           “You could have warned me!” Holly said disgustedly as she pulled herself away from the wall.  
           “Some things are best learned through experience,” replied Sir pleasantly. “Perhaps we should begin again,” added Sir in a harder sounding voice. “Assuming you knew nothing about Empaths before Hogwarts, you have had two years to learn about your abilities. The Healing manuals suggest Empaths should first learn directions, then blocking. The fact that you no longer travel with your cat around Hogwarts means you have mastered the art of blocking. It follows, then, that your directional abilities are much better than you would have me believe…” Suddenly Sir swung his wand towards the wall. Holly felt a sharp slashing pain at her waist! She screamed and fell to the ground. “Which direction!” persisted Sir coldly. “Point! And while you’re at it, describe for me the injury… I understand you performed quite well after the stadium collapse!”  
           “What have you done?” whispered Holly in horror while clutching her body tightly.  
           Sir waived his wand again.  
           “No!” screamed Holly as she felt a sharp slash to her leg and calf. “Stop it!”  
           “Get up!” said Sir coldly. “And do as I say!” He waived his wand again. Holly screamed as her shoulder seemed to blaze on fire! “I can continue as long as you like!”  
           He lifted his wand again—“There!” sobbed Holly before he could finish the move. She pointed in a specific direction. “She’s there! Oh, stop it, please stop it!”  
           “And the injuries?” persisted Sir relentlessly.  
           “Waist!” Holly choked out. “It’s bad!”  
           “What else?”  
           “Shoulder, leg…like knives!”  
           “Which shoulder? Which leg?” demanded Sir without hesitation.  
           “Left shoulder, right leg!”  
           “Where on the leg?”  
           “The calf. Oh please, stop it! Help her!”  
           Sir knelt down so he could look Holly in the eyes. “Then tell me something else about her,” he challenged, “something I don’t know you know!”  
           Holly closed her eyes and tried to think. “She’s getting weaker,” she whispered. “I think she’s dying!” and curled herself up tighter in pain.  
           Abruptly Holly felt nothing, nothing at all. “What did you do?” she asked anxiously opening her eyes and looking up at him.  
           Sir was standing again. He smiled expectantly at her.  
           “What did you do, _sir,”_ repeated Holly knowing what that smile meant.  
           “I “helped” her,” replied Sir calmly. “That’s what you wanted,” he reminded Holly. “Now she’s not in pain…”  
           “But how?” questioned Holly worriedly. Sir merely smiled expectantly. Holly gulped. “How did you help her, _sir?”_ she asked rephrasing her question.  
           “I put her to sleep, of course. Now, stand up.”  
           “What will happen to her, _sir?”_ asked Holly worriedly as she stood.  
           “That is no longer your concern,” Sir replied airily. “And if you persist in talking about her I could always change the spell to something more … permanent. Would you like that?”  
           Holly gulped again. “No, _sir,”_ she whispered swiftly. She had a horrible feeling Sir had just offered to kill the woman…  
           “Excellent. I believe that is enough for now. Perhaps you should get some rest,” he suggested. “I’ll be back later and we can try this again…” He waved his wand and vanished.  
           Holly sank down where she was and curled up tightly into a ball. She felt overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness. It was appalling to think how easily she had caved in to Sir’s demands. The first _crucio_ hadn’t even touched her. Sir had directed it at the person behind the wall. Even though Holly had known she wasn’t actually injured, the pain had still been excruciating; she couldn’t stand by and let someone else suffer so at her expense. Worse, no matter how hard she had tried, Holly hadn’t been able to block! She was certain Sir knew she hadn’t blocked! He may even know she couldn’t block; perhaps he caused it… Maybe there was something about that wall that prevented blocking… More likely there was probably an assortment of potions in the stuff she’d been fed that was messing with her mind…  
           As she lay on the floor, Holly reviewed the experience in her mind. Holly was fairly certain the woman behind the emotion had not known they were there. There had been too much confusion mixed with the pain. Could Sir see the person he was torturing? If so, why couldn’t Holly? If Sir couldn’t see the lady, how could he be certain the spells he cast would hit her? And with such accuracy?  
           And what about that wall? That couldn’t have been a wall, not really; for how could she have felt emotions through it in the first place? Nor could Sir have cast spells through a real “wall.” So what was it? Holly rose and slowly approached the wall. She stretched out a finger to touch it squinching her eyes shut in anticipation of another blast across the room. But her finger reached the wall without any invisible obstruction. The wall felt soft and mushy as always. Holly pounded on it experimentally. Her fists sank into it as usual. That meant Sir had somehow changed the wall so she could feel the emotions. And he must have somehow changed it back when he left.  
           “If there were any weaknesses,” Holly mused hopefully, “it would have to be that wall. If I could get a hold of his wand, perhaps I could blast through to the outside…” But getting the wand would not be easy. Sir never once came close enough for her to try.  
           Holly sighed. She rose and went to her cot. Holly curled up on the cot, pulled the thin gray blanket over her head and fell into an exhausted sleep.

**********

          A new emotion came from the other room. It was angry and strong and woke Holly with a jolt. She staggered off her cot and moved into the other room.  
           “That’s far enough,” commanded Sir calmly when Holly reached the entry. Holly looked at him and stopped. Sir stood at the far side and had his wand pointed threateningly at her. “Face the wall,” he ordered “and point to the direction.”  
           Holly obediently turned. “How do you do it, _Sir?”_ Holly asked as she pointed.  
           “Do what?” purred the voice of Sir and then added more sharply, “What is the distance?”  
           “The distance?” questioned Holly. She closed her eyes and tried to focus. “I don’t know. Maybe a meter from the wall, _Sir?”_ she looked to Sir for some sign of confirmation but he merely smiled at Holly so she asked, “How do you make the wall so I can feel emotions beyond it, _Sir?”_  
           “A skill you need not know,” replied Sir smoothly. “Describe the person!” he added without missing a beat.  
           Holly shrugged. “Male, angry,” she told him.  
           “Why is he angry?”  
           “I don’t know,” replied Holly promptly. “I would have to _see_ him answer that...”  
           “And his physical ailments?” asked Sir ignoring Holly’s implied suggestion to let her see the person…  
           Holly closed her eyes again and focused. “There’s no pain,” she said when she opened her eyes. Sensing motion from Sir, Holly added quickly, “There’s no need to do that,” whatever he was doing. “You already know I can sense pain, _Sir.”_  
           “Ah, but at what intensity?” purred Sir. “And from what distance?”  
           Holly gulped and stood helplessly as he completed his wand motion and whatever spell went with it. Then she waited for whatever would happen next… Nothing happened. What did that mean? Then she sensed a pinprick of pain starting at her ear, or rather, the man’s ear…  
           “Decisions, decisions,” murmured Sir as the pain continued to grow. “Whether to tell me exactly when you begin to sense something or hold off and try to appear less talented…”  
           “Stop it!” Holly snapped. “Left ear, earache!”  
           “Earache, what?” reminded Sir, as the pain of the man continued, intensified.  
           “Earache, _Sir!”_ shouted Holly over the pain she was feeling.  
           Abruptly the wand lifted and the pain stopped. Holly staggered forward in relief. “What do you feel now?” questioned Sir.  
           “Nothing,” admitted Holly.  
           “Nothing, what?” said Sir sharply. His wand flicked as he spoke and Holly felt a sharp slashing pain across her cheek! Not her cheek, of course, but she still felt whatever the man felt. Holly fell to her knees in surprise while clasping her cheek.  
          “Nothing, _Sir!”_ Holly gasped. “But it’s not nothing now! Oh, why did you do that?” Holly cried between her tears. Sir did not answer. He just smiled and watched her expectantly. “Why did you do that, _Sir?”_ Holly added sobbing.  
          “It was not “nothing” before,” corrected Sir lowering his wand. “What happened to the anger?”  
          “The anger?” questioned Holly in confusion. “It went away,” she looked up at Sir and saw that insufferable smile, _“Sir,”_ Holly added hastily. He inclined his head slightly in approval.  
           “To be replaced by what?” Sir continued.  
           “What? I don’t know, relief when the pain ended?” Sir smiled expectantly, _“Sir!”_  
           “And in between?”  
           “Between?” Holly closed her eyes. It was difficult to remember, to focus with the pain. “I think there was just pain, _Sir!”_  
           “You think?” persisted Sir. “I expect you to know for sure. You must notice and report everything. What do you feel now?” he demanded. “Report _everything!”_  
           “Pain,” whispered Holly, “Slash on the right cheek, _Sir!”_ Holly screamed in surprise when she felt the sharp stab of a second slash on her cheek!  
           “I said _everything!”_ came the cold voice of Sir. “What about the other emotions—the ones not related to pain?” persisted Sir.  
           _“Surprise? Confusion? Sir!”_  
           “Much better,” said Sir in an approving voice. “I expect complete reports the first time. Remember that. However, I believe we should work on expanding and refining your use of adjectives… There are, after all, many _kinds_ of pain…”  
           Holly grabbed her knees, hid her head behind them and curled into a tight ball. “No!” she moaned rocking back and forth unable to face such a prospect. Suddenly she felt a slashing sting down her forearm! A new scream escaped Holly’s lips as her head jerked up and back in surprise.  
           “You have no choice in the matter,” Sir said sternly. “You will do as I instruct!”  
           Holly felt a new slash down her arm, the upper part. Her body jerked uncontrollably in response and Holly clung ever tighter to her knees. “You hesitated,” Sir accused. His voice sounded ever so close but Holly was beyond looking or trying to get the wand. “The pain in the ear,” he added explaining. “You did not tell me when you first felt it. That is unacceptable! Do not try to hide anything from me,” he warned coldly. “I shall know and you will … regret … it!” Abruptly the emotional sensations vanished. Holly’s body went limp with relief. She cautiously looked up and about. Sir was gone.

**********

          Holly lay on the floor a long time afterwards, too weak to move. “Daddy,” she sobbed. “What’ll I do?” But her father did not answer. Holly found she could not even call forth his image and saw only the gray of her surroundings within her mind. Finally, Holly fell asleep where she lay. Later, Holly woke. She stirred, straightened to a more comfortable position and went back to sleep. There were no dreams in her sleep, no Sir to haunt her.  
           Eventually Holly woke again. She felt calm and languid. She stirred slightly and lay without moving. Why bother?  
           “You shouldn’t sleep on the floor,” said Sir. Startled by his presence, Holly struggled to a more sitting position. She felt curiously light-headed and weak from the effort. “There’s a cot for that,” reminded Sir. His voice was calm, peaceful and actually gentle. Holly opened her eyes and stared blankly ahead the endless gray of the wall and furnishings seemed to match the gray of her mind.  
           “You’re weak,” observed Sir, softly. “You need to eat more…”  
           Holly did not answer. She slowly blinked her eyes open and shut several times. Curious how the world looked the same whether or not her eyes were open.  
           “Eat some food, now,” The voice was ever so gentle but still an order.  
           “I’m not hungry,” replied Holly without emotion.  
           “That does not matter,” replied Sir. “You still need to eat to keep up your energy.” When Holly did not move he added, “Would you like some … emotional company while you eat?”  
           “Yours?” Holly asked with a note of interest. She dearly wanted to know more about her kidnapper.  
           “No,” replied Sir firmly. “If you like, we could discuss your abilities while you ate or later…” His voice trailed off suggestively making Holly shutter involuntarily. “It’s a choice you may make…”  
           Holly sighed. She had had enough of outside emotions. Reluctantly, Holly dragged herself up off the floor, walked shakily to the table and sat down. She stared blankly at the gray bowl with its uninteresting gray contents.  
           “Would you like help?” Sir asked with concern in his voice. Again, Holly looked hopefully up at Sir only to be faced by a gray spoon floating in the air in front of her. The spoon swooped down, scooped up some stuff and hovered in front of her lips. Holly suddenly had an image of Paige Crowley doing the same thing with a memory potion! Holly shuttered and grabbed the spoon. Paige was the first person she could actually visualize since she had arrived in that place. Holly closed her eyes and hung on to the image as she swallowed the icky stuff.  
           “Very good,” purred the voice of Sir. “Take another…”  
           “It tastes awful!” muttered Holly as she reluctantly dipped up another spoonful.  
           “Taste isn’t everything,” replied Sir calmly. “This porridge is specially designed to supply all your nutritional needs. It’s based on the food the gladiators of ancient Rome used to eat.”  
           “Wonderful!” said Holly sarcastically. “They can have it! I’ve eaten and I’m full now,” she announced setting her spoon down.  
           “Keep eating,” insisted Sir ignoring Holly’s words. “Two spoonfuls does not a meal make. You should finish the _full_ bowl at a time…”  
           Holly reluctantly picked up the spoon again. She dipped up some more “porridge” closed her eyes, fixed her mind on Paige’s relentless black eyes and sleek black hair and took another bite. And another, and another... Holly had never particularly liked Paige, but it was nice to see someone else in her mind.  
           “Scrape it clean,” ordered Sir softly as Holly started to set her spoon down a second time. “I said the full bowl.” Holly reluctantly scraped the last bits of stuff out of the bowl and put it in her mouth. Suddenly a bright red strawberry appeared in the bottom of the bowl! Startled, Holly looked up at Sir. He smiled at her surprise. “No need to thank me,” he told her benevolently, “Appropriate behavior has its own rewards. Empty your bowl more often,” Sir added narrowing his eyes. “I will _know_ if you don’t.” He waived his wand and vanished.

**********

          Holly stared at the strawberry in disbelief. How many times had she emptied that bowl spooning the contents onto the table, into the sink, in the toilet, on the floor, the bed, the walls, everywhere she could think of in sheer boredom and never once had a strawberry appeared! Why now? Was it because Sir was there? If not, how did it know she had eaten the stuff not poured it out? Would it happen again? It was something to think about, but not now; she felt too full.  
           Holly cautiously picked up the strawberry. It was a deep luscious red, perfect ripeness and smelled heavenly. She longed to crush it in her hand and feel the wet sticky juice run between her fingers as she wanted to do to anything related to Sir, but she didn’t. Holly still dreamed longingly of the apple that sank into the wall and of all the other things she could have done with it besides eating it…  
           That was the trouble with this place. When Sir was there, the adrenaline flooded through her body and Holly felt nervous, tense, afraid, anxious, hopeful, pain… a whole host of wildly conflicting emotions. But when Sir wasn’t there, Holly frankly felt … bored. Holly hated Sir with a passion and hated herself every time she caught herself wishing for his presence just so something would relieve the nothingness of the place.  
           So Holly treated the strawberry like a treasured pearl. First, she counted all the seeds on the berry. That took a long time and only when Holly was thoroughly familiar with every minute variation of the strawberry’s shape could she achieve a definite number. Then Holly re-counted the seeds several times just to be sure.  
           When she wasn’t counting seeds, Holly stared at the strawberry—trying to memorize it from every position possible. A part of Holly was certain it would be the last strawberry she would ever see. Holly noted its rich, deep red that faded to white at the top where the leaves would have been, the faint shine on the surface from the lighting, darker on the bottom, and how a new part was highlighted when she turned or moved the strawberry. Over and over Holly twisted and turned the strawberry delighting in its presence. The red wasn’t just “red” from different locations in her prison—bright red in the bathroom, dark gray on the cot… Using the spoon, (she was certain the berry would sink into the surfaces were it placed anywhere else) Holly placed the strawberry in every possible location again and again just to view the differences in colour.  
           Holly eventually fell asleep with the strawberry gently nestled in the palm of her hand. It was gone when she woke. Holly mourned the absence of the strawberry but spent a long time afterwards remembering the shape and smell of the strawberry painting it, over and over again, with its bright red colour in her mind.


	7. Chapter 7

          Two emotions, both angry and strong, intruded on Holly’s umteenth mental artistic rendition of the strawberry. She sighed and reluctantly rose off her cot. On one hand, they were a welcome diversion but at the same time Holly dreaded Sir’s questions and what Sir would do to them. Perhaps he wouldn’t hurt them much if she did everything Sir wanted…  
          “Stand and Report!” commanded Sir when Holly reached the lit room.  
          Holly remained standing in place. “Two emotions,” she replied softly, “a man and a woman.”  
          “Two emotions, what?” reminded Sir and Holly suddenly felt a pinprick of pain as he spoke.  
          “Two emotions, _Sir,”_ repeated Holly quickly, “and there’s a pinprick of pain on the back of his hand, _Sir.”_ The pinprick sensation vanished.  
          “It’s gone now, _Sir,”_ added Holly promptly.  
          “What direction?” questioned Sir.  
          Holly obediently pointed. “There,” she replied, “and there, for the woman,” she added pointing to an area further down the wall.  
          “Distance?”  
          “Just behind the wall, sir,” Holly replied evenly. “There’s another pinprick,” she added suddenly, “On the back of the woman’s hand, left hand, sir.” Sir smiled. He waved his wand and the pinprick sensation vanished; Holly told him so.  
          Question by question Sir drew out whatever Holly could determine about the two people. He interspersed his questions with random pinprick sensations that Holly made sure to mention in her answers.  
          “He’s hungry,” Holly suddenly announced after what seemed an eternity of questions and pinpricks. “So’s she,” Holly added.  
          “Then they should eat,” concluded Sir calmly. “As should you.” He nodded towards the table. “But they won’t be able to eat until you finish,” he informed Holly and he flicked his wand in the direction of the wall. Holly felt a sudden sensation of a lurching stomach and then her nose and the palms of her hands hurt!  
          “He fell!” Holly announced while holding her hand up to her nose and rubbing it. “You tripped him!” she accused.  
          “That should keep them occupied long enough for you to eat,” Sir told Holly smugly, “don’t you think? Or should I come up with other diversions?”  
          “No, sir,” sighed Holly. She walked quickly to the table, sat down and began to eat, shoveling the horrid stuff into her mouth as fast as possible all the while mindful of the emotions of the two behind the wall.  
          “That wasn’t so bad was it?” questioned Sir in a patronizing voice as Holly scooped out the last bit of porridge and put it into her mouth. A small, bright orange carrot with a dark green top appeared at the bottom of the bowl. In frustrated fury, Holly quickly grabbed the carrot and threw it at Sir with all her might. The carrot bounced harmlessly off some sort of invisible personal defensive shield less than a meter away from Sir. It landed on the floor, rolling to a stop after a few centimeters and began to sink into the floor.  
          Sir smiled. “Temper, temper,” he said indulgently. “You shouldn’t waste your food like that but now you know,” Sir added in a voice as hard as ice.  
          “Huh?” questioned Holly in surprise disconcerted by the change in voice and subject.  
          “You’ve been hoping to somehow attack and overpower me haven’t you?” explained Sir coldly, “And now you know. The attempt … will … fail. Do not try again. I will not be as tolerant.” He vanished with a wave of his wand.

***********

          Boredom reigned again. Holly spent her time lying half awake on the cot remembering the strawberry and fanaticizing about all the other things she could have done with a crisp cold carrot and it’s dark green leafy top. Though fairly certain something else would appear should she finish the porridge, Holly ate only a few spoonfuls at a time. The stuff was still ghastly. Not eating a full bowl at a time when she was alone was a way to defy Sir and it could be done without others getting hurt. Holly spent a long time trying to predict what might appear in the bottom of the bowl the next time Sir forced her to eat...  
          A new emotion, youthful, happy and energetic, succeeded in rousing Holly from sleep. Her eyes fluttered open. Holly considered the emotion briefly and then turned over and tried to ignore it. She hated how Sir called to her using emotions like she was some sort of trained pet. The emotion was so faint it had to be far away—definitely out of her range, whatever that was. Perhaps if Holly ignored it Sir would leave it and her alone.  
          But once awakened, Holly was unable to go back to sleep and as she lay on the cot she felt the faint cheerful emotion get stronger and stronger as it gradually turned to an emotion of distress. A small pinprick of annoyance seemed to grow and grow becoming intense pain. The pain increased steadily turning into total agony, continuous agony!  
          “Stop it!” Holly screamed as she rolled off the cot and moved to the doorway. “How can you just torture people so?!! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”  
          Abruptly the prolonged agony stopped and the emotions returned to extreme pain, which was an improvement, believe it or not. “If you want to avoid such torment,” returned Sir icily, “you should come sooner. Give me a report on the person behind the emotion,” he commanded. “Everything!” he commanded. “And I suggest you answer promptly to avoid prolonging this. Direction?” he rapped out staccato like.  
          Holly grasped the edge of the entry with one hand and pointed with the other.  
          “Distance!”  
          “What?”  
          “Distance,” repeated Sir. “How far away is he?”  
          “Um,” Holly fought against the pain to think numbers. “One maybe two meters from the wall…” she answered.  
          “Male or female?”  
          “Male.”  
          “And the pain? Where is it?”  
          “Everywhere!” exploded Holly.  
          “And before?” asked Sir.  
          “What?”  
          “Before!” reminded Sir. “Would you like a refresher?” he raised his wand suggestively.  
          “No!” choked out Holly remembering. “It was like his head was exploding, forever and ever!”  
          “And now?”  
          “Sharp pokes everywhere, like needles! What are you doing to him?”  
          Sir waved his wand ignoring Holly’s question. Holly screamed as she felt a familiar sharp stab above her hand. “You broke his wrist,” she gasped. “Why did you do that?”  
          ”You left out some injuries.” Sir told Holly coldly. “I said I want everything!”  
          Holly tried to think, to focus. What else had there been? It must have been earlier, before the needles… Thumb!” she said suddenly, left thumb hurt, and his knee hurt too… Please stop this, _Sir,_ please!” Holly begged with tears streaming down her eyes.  
          “Which knee?” persisted Sir.  
          “I don’t know,” sobbed Holly. “Right one, maybe? It wasn’t that bad and I can’t feel it any more—there’s too much else!”  
          “You should know, remember,” Sir said reprovingly. “I expect you to do better next time. Age?” Sir asked abruptly.  
          “What?” Holly asked confused.  
          “What age is he?”  
          “That’s not an emotion!” Holly protested. “How am I supposed to know that?”  
          “Oh, I think you have a good idea,” replied Sir confidently. “Child, adult, young, old, teen. Give me your best guess and tell me why…” Sir’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he spoke.  
          Holly slumped against the wall. “Young,” she whispered, “very young. He was so happy before, so full of energy. Only small children are like that.   Now there’s only pain. Please stop it, sir, please!”  
          Sir waved his wand. Abruptly all the pain ended and Holly felt, nothing. She looked hopefully at sir. “Asleep,” he told Holly. “But I may change my mind…”  
          Holly closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, exhausted from the experience.  
          “I’ve heard there is a difference between Muggle and Wizard emotions,” came Sir’s calm voice. “Is there?”  
          “Yes,” whispered Holly too drained to do anything but answer.  
          “What was the boy?” he asked.  
          “Muggle,” replied Holly softly.  
          “And the others?”  
          “Muggle.”  
          “Very good. I shall expect you to include that information in your next report. Now, you need to eat.” Sir pointed his wand at the table, waved it and suddenly the delicious aroma of an Indian curry arose from the bowl. Holly stared at the food warily. Despite the enticing smell, she wanted nothing to do with Sir or his “gifts.”  
          “For you!” Sir said grandly. “I suggest you eat it _now,_ before the flavour changes…” he spoke of food but his wand was again pointed suggestively at the wall.    
          That was a good as an order, knowing Sir. Holly sighed and walked over to the table. It looked to be a basic curry with small spoon-sized pieces of vegetables but the colors seemed ever so bright and varied next to the sparkling white rice also within that grim gray bowl. Holly picked up the spoon and took a small spoonful of rice and curry together. The taste was spicier than she remembered but she welcomed the lingering heat in her mouth. She took another and another keeping her head carefully down. Holly was searching with her senses while she ate, hoping some other emotion would come and find the boy.  
          There was the soft sound of rustling cloth—Holly ventured a glance up and saw Sir seated across the table from her. It was the closest he had ever been to her in a chair that hadn’t been there before. The hood was down revealing his blond hair, neatly trimmed above the ears and unblemished tanned skin. The wand was no longer visible and his clasped hands with neatly trimmed fingernails were resting easily on the table. His icy blue eyes seemed to pierce through Holly. Holly looked down and took another bite.  
          “You show much potential,” began Sir pleasantly as she ate, “but have little discipline. Don’t worry,” he assured Holly confidently, “we have plenty of time to change that, you and me...” Holly shuttered. She kept her head down and took another spoonful of food, concentrated on the spicy taste and searched with her mind for another emotion, any emotion.  
          “You have a lot to learn, Miss Wycliff,” continued Sir grandly. “I shall enjoy training you to your full … potential.” He paused as Holly took another bite of food. “May I call you Holly?” Sir asked and continued without waiting for an answer. “We will be spending so much time together I should think a first name basis might be more appropriate … for you, of course, not me. Professors should always be given proper respect. Or perhaps you would prefer a new name to celebrate your new life…”  
          Holly felt herself blanch at the suggestion nearly choking on the food in her throat. She finished swallowing hastily. “You would take away my name, too? _Sir?”_ she asked in a low voice barely able to contain her outrage.  
          “Why not? Holly Wycliff has already been buried,” Sir reminded her calmly. “But we can discuss that later, after I’ve thought of an appropriate new name… Holly rammed her spoon into the bowl with ferocity. It bent under the pressure and straightened as she scooped up more food. Holly forced the food into her mouth and determinedly chewed to keep from speaking knowing that Sir, like the other Slytherins, would call her what he wanted and there was no way to stop it.  
          “Accept your life,” whispered Sir persuasively as she ate, “for there is no other. It can be very good if you wish, if you do not fight it…”  
          Holly continued to eat silently not trusting herself to speak. A part of her kept focus on the wall hoping for a new emotion. Another part feared Sir would somehow know what she was doing and prevent help from coming or torture those who would help should they arrive…  
          “Resisting the inevitable can only lead to more … discomfort and gain you nothing in the end,” continued Sir logically.  
          “I hate you, _Sir!”_ Holly exploded fiercely, no longer able to contain her thoughts. The words kept her from dwelling on the emotionless wall and what lay behind. “You’ve ripped me from my home and everyone I love and expect me to accept curry instead— _Sir!”_ she spit out.  
          “You may come to appreciate the simpler pleasures,” replied Sir mildly.  
_“Never!”_ asserted Holly vehemently though she remembered well her delight at having finally determined the correct number of seeds in the strawberry. “You torture people and it doesn’t bother you—not in the least!— _Sir!_ ”  
          “A necessary part of your training,” murmured Sir calmly. “I would not waste my time with it otherwise.”  
          “But children?” protested Holly looking up from her food. “How could you, _Sir?”_  
          Sir shrugged. “Why not?” he said dismissively. “The child was best suited for your lesson. You may expect many such lessons,” Sir continued blandly, “and many different emotions. The people behind the emotions you feel are of no consequence. You should not distress yourself over them. However, if you find such experiences distasteful, then I recommend you arrive the moment you sense an emotion and do all that is expected of you promptly to minimize the length of the lesson…”  
          Holly flushed guiltily remembering how she had initially tried to ignore the emotion. Holly forced more food into her mouth as she grieved inwardly for the unknown child she could no longer sense.  
          “I _will_ have my way in the end,” Sir whispered, “so the sooner you accept that and put your mind to the tasks set before you the more pleasant your life will be.” His voice hardened as he spoke.  
          “What you’re doing is wrong, _Sir,”_ Holly ventured in a low voice. Would no one come for the boy?  
          “Morality is no longer your concern,” replied Sir. “You need only to focus on doing what I require and doing it well. Nothing else matters.”  
          “You – you _Beast!”_ Holly said with feeling thinking of the grim existence Sir had created for her filled with torment and pain where a mere strawberry could excite unwanted emotions.  
          “You may think so now,” replied Sir calmly. “But that will pass. I believe Beauty married the Beast in the story, didn’t she?”  
          Holly’s whole body seemed to cringe at the thought of ever feeling _that_ way towards Sir. “At least _she_ got to see her family and nobody mourned her as dead,” countered Holly aloud and she suddenly felt a wave of homesickness wash over her. Would she ever see any of her family and friends again? She worried again about the unknown boy—her only link with the outside. Why didn’t someone come?  
          “A minor variation,” said Sir dismissively, “and one that happens only in fairy tales. You are _dead_ to them and they are _dead_ to you. It shall stay that way. I do you a kindness telling you this,” Sir added informatively as Holly scooped up the last bit of rice in the bowl and put it into her mouth. “I could offer you empty promises to secure your cooperation but I won’t. I think it is better you forget your past and make the best of things than spend your days pining away for what you cannot have. Don’t you agree?”  
           “No I don’t, _sir!_ ” replied Holly with feeling slamming down her empty spoon as hard as possible. It flattened with the effort and then sprang back to its original shape. “I want my family!” Holly demanded.  
          “You _have_ no family,” replied Sir firmly. “You have _no_ one except me,” he told her coldly. The sooner you accept that, Holly, the easier your life will become. Look at me,” he abruptly ordered. Holly reluctantly raised her head and looked into those hated blue eyes.  
          “Your appearance has declined,” commented Sir critically as he studied her face. “And your hair is tangled. When was the last time you brushed it?”  
          “I wouldn’t know, _sir,”_ snapped Holly. “There’s no clock in here, _sir!_ ”  
          “You do not need a clock to tell time,” reproved Sir mildly. “There is the time when you are asleep and the time when you are awake. And when you are awake, you should always take care to look your best. Looking your best has a large impact on your attitude,” he added instructionally. “When you look good, you feel better about yourself and then you perform better. I shall expect an improvement in your appearance next time,” he told Holly.  
           “And when will that be, _sir?_ ” questioned Holly anxiously.  
          “When you are … awake,” replied Sir enigmatically as he pulled his wand from his sleeve. Sir waved the wand and vanished.

 **********

          Holly went straight to the toilet after she left the table and promptly threw up everything she had eaten. She again curled up on the cot and pulled the gray blanket over her head. Her stomach churned uncontrollably and she felt thoroughly sick. Whether it was because of too much solid food, spicy food, what Sir did to others in front of her, the thought of what he might do next or make her do, or a combination, it didn’t matter. The results were the same. Holly felt miserable for what seemed like an eternity and longed for death to end it all.  
          Eventually the stomach pains ended, but not the depression or the overwhelming sense of hopelessness. Sir had kept his distance preferring magic to physical contact. When he had seemed closer, Holly had been in no condition to fight back. She never counted on the pain. Sir had forced her to experience everything and anything without even touching her! Why couldn’t she block??? Holly ignored sensations of hunger, curled up listlessly under the cover and sought the oblivion of sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

          A new emotion woke Holly with a jolt and caused her to shoot out from under the covers like a rocket! “NO!” she screamed rolling off the cot and stumbling towards the entry of the other room.  
          “Report!” came Sir’s commanding voice stopping Holly in her tracks.  
          “No!” beseeched Holly looking at Sir. “You mustn’t; you can’t!”  
          “Have you learned nothing?” asked Sir coldly. He lifted his wand—  
          “That way!” screeched Holly hastily and pointed with her finger. “It’s that way, that way, _Sir!”_  
          “Distance?”  
          “Just outside the wall, _Sir,”_ answered Holly. “Oh, don’t do this, _Sir,_ please,” Holly added after she saw the wand lower a fraction.  
          “Male or female?”  
          “Male.” The wand lifted and Holly quickly added, _“Sir!”_  
          “Muggle or Wizard?”  
          “Wi-wizard, Sir!”  
          “Age?”  
          “F-fourteen or fifteen? Sir!”  
          “Very precise,” commented Sir approvingly. “Can you determine all wizard ages so precisely?”  
          “N-no, _Sir!”_ admitted Holly miserably.  
          “But you can this one?”  
          “Y-yes, Sir!” admitted Holly.  
          “And why is that?”  
          “Be-because I know him,” Holly admitted. “Oh, please, Sir, don’t do this!” she begged.  
          “You can tell a person’s identity just from his emotions?” Sir persisted.  
          “Yes, Sir,” Holly answered woodenly, “when I know him.”  
          “And who is this wizard?”  
          “It’s Conner, Sir, Conner Fitzpatrick.”  
          “Tell me about Mr. Fitzpatrick, Holly,” whispered Sir in a silky voice.  
          “He’s Gryffindor, Sir,” answered Holly in a shaky voice. “He’s in my class—fourth year,” she added. “Likes comics…”  
          “His parents?”  
          “I don’t know them,” Holly replied, “but I know they’re Muggles,” she added. "Oh, please, _sir,_ don’t do this to me!” Holly begged. “Don’t do this to Conner! _Sir.”_  
          “Tell me about Mr. Fitzpatrick’s emotions,” persisted Sir softly while ignoring Holly’s distress. He lifted his wand suggestively.  
          “He’s calm, sir,” Holly replied quickly, “relaxed, no pain… _Sir,”_  
          “And why is that?” questioned Sir softly.  
          “I don’t—” Holly stopped. “He’s probably reading, sir,” Holly admitted reluctantly certain Sir would know if she said otherwise. “That’s the way he always feels when he’s reading…”  
          “Interesting,” murmured Sir. “Look at me, Holly,” Sir instructed.  
          Holly turned her head and looked. Sir was watching Holly intently. “Please, Sir, don’t do this, please,” begged Holly as she searched his face for any sign of compassion. She saw none.  
          “Close your eyes, Holly,” Sir ordered softly,  
          “No,” protested Holly weakly as she closed her eyes not daring to disobey. “Please don’t, Sir, please!” she begged desperately with growing dread certain something would happen but not knowing what.  
          “Keep them closed, Holly,” ordered Sir in a gentle voice, “and tell me what you feel…”  
          Holly felt nothing, no changes of any sort. _“No!”_ she thought in panic, _“What am I missing?”_  
          “Well?” came the voice of Sir. “What do you feel? Answer me!”  
          “I can’t feel anything! Sir!” replied Holly in a rush. “It’s the same, Sir, I swear! Whatever you’re doing I can’t feel it—I can’t! Don’t hurt him, Sir, please!”  
          “I haven’t,” assured Sir in a calming voice. “There is nothing new for you to feel.” Holly felt her whole body sag with relief. “Have faith in yourself,” continued Sir. You’ve been tensing, Holly,” he added informatively. “Anticipating spells through my motions. That’s why I want your eyes closed. You must tell me only what you sense, when you sense it, not before. Take a deep breath,” Sir added in a soothing voice. “Hold it,” he ordered when Holly had breathed in. “Now let it go… Again… And again…” Holly did as she was told and gradually her breathing calmed, but not her fears.  
          “Keep breathing,” instructed Sir. “Has there been any change in Mr. Fitzpatrick’s emotions?”  
          “No. No, _Sir,”_ replied Holly hollowly while filled with a sense of impending doom.  
          “Very good,” said Sir calmly. “Keep breathing and focus on Mr. Fitzpatrick. Tell me when you sense any changes. There may be no changes at all,” warned Sir. “Do not be afraid to tell me that too, should I ask.”  
          Holly waited and waited. Nothing happened. She swayed restlessly where she stood. “Keep your eyes closed,” warned Sir.  
          “Yes, sir,” whispered Holly. Maybe he meant it; maybe he wouldn’t do anything to Conner…  
          “Can you sense anything different?”  
          “No, sir,” replied Holly. Then, “No!” Holly moaned sinking to her knees. “No, no, no, no!” she repeated keeping her eyes tightly closed. There was no need to see what he had done.  
          “You sense a change in emotions?” questioned Sir in a gentle voice.  
          “Yes, sir,” whispered Holly. “Please don’t hurt him, please!” she begged again.  
          “What is Mr. Fitzpatrick’s emotion?”  
          “He’s … he’s _happy,”_ answered Holly with despair.  
          “And that disturbs you?”  
          “Yes,” admitted Holly.  
          “Why?”  
          “Because, because it’s the _Imperius Curse!”_ exploded Holly. “Oh, please don’t hurt him, _Sir, please!”_  
          “Are you certain?”  
          “Yes!”  
          “Open your eyes, Holly.” Holly opened her eyes and looked up at Sir. His face was as calm, cold and expressionless, as before. “Yes, it is the _Imperius Curse_ ,” he told Holly. “And you can be certain I would have no difficulty casting other unforgivable curses should the need arise. But the question becomes, as it _is_ an unforgivable curse, one not taught in school, how is it that you can recognize the emotions created by a person under the _Imperius Curse_?”  
          Holly gulped. “Pro-Professor Lovegood cast it for an assignment,” she told him.  
          “Did she?” questioned Sir with interest. Holly nodded. “You must tell me about it,” he ordered, “ _everything_ —Take your time,” he added pleasantly. “I’m sure Mr. Fitzpatrick won’t mind waiting…”  
          Holly looked back at the wall anxiously certain Sir had ordered Conner to do something. It was almost harder knowing something was happening to Conner and not have any emotional clue as to exactly what. “It w-was after the collapse,” Holly began hesitantly and she told Sir all about that day in the Defense Against the Dark Arts room and the report she had written afterwards.  
          “Fascinating,” murmured Sir when Holly had finished. “Happy _and_ sad?” Holly nodded. “Most interesting…”  
          Holly turned her head back to the wall. “He’s upset,” she announced suddenly, _“Sir,”_ Holly added. She was certain Sir had some way to watch Conner and would know if she didn’t relate things promptly. “Really upset.”  
          “A new emotion?” murmured Sir with interest. “Is he still under the _Imperius Curse?”_  
          “No,” replied Holly flatly. “Not any more. What did you make him do?” Sir?” she asked worriedly.  
          “Is he in pain, physically?” questioned Sir while ignoring Holly’s question.  
          “No, sir,” admitted Holly. “Now he’s angry,” she added, “really angry. And worried…”  
          “Worried and angry?” mused Sir thoughtfully. “Why would that be?”  
          “I—” Holly stopped. It was easy to say she didn’t know but she suspected she did and Sir would know if she lied… “He _knows_ ,” Holly answered flatly.  
          “Knows?” questioned Sir. “Knows what?”  
          “He knows someone has cast an _Imperius Curse_ on him,” replied Holly.  
          “How is that possible? You said Miss Smith and Mr. Owens had no memory of what they had done or that they had even been under a spell.”  
          Holly closed her eyes in thought. “It’s the disorientation,” she said finally. “Waking up someplace different, being told you’ve done something you don’t remember doing… Conner knows what that feels like and he could guess the cause.”  
          “That would mean he has experienced the _Imperius Curse_ before?”  
          “Yes,” admitted Holly reluctantly.  
          “And were you witness to this?”  
          “Yes,” Holly whispered.  
          Sir waved his wand suddenly. Holly blanched as Conner again radiated pure happiness. “Sir,” she pleaded. “Don’t do it to him again, please!”  
          “I don’t want Mr. Fitzpatrick to leave just yet,” replied Sir blandly. “We’re not finished. Tell me about his experience…” And Holly told Sir about the Third Year exam that seemed to duplicate what had happened to Albus.  
          “That was very interesting,” said Sir when Holly had finished. “Very interesting indeed. Were those the only people you have encountered that were under the _Imperius Curse_?” Holly gulped and looked down guiltily without speaking. “I warn you, Holly,” began Sir sternly. “Do not try to hide anything from me. Mr. Fitzpatrick is waiting, _happily_.  
          “There was one more,” she said in a low voice, “but you won’t believe me… and, _please,_ you mustn’t punish Conner just because you don’t believe me…”  
          “Tell the truth, Holly,” replied Sir making no promises, “Nothing else matters. So who was it?”  
          “I saw Paige Crowley…”  
          “The student who abducted and assaulted you?”  
          “Uh, huh—only it wasn’t Paige who did that—it was … someone else!”  
          “Who?” questioned Sir.  
          “W-Witch Umbridge!”  
          “Witch Umbridge, and you didn’t notice?” said Sir in disbelief.  
          “She was using Polyjuice to look like Paige,” said Holly defensively.  
          “You just said you could recognize people through their emotions,” countered Sir while pointing his wand at the wall…  
          “I can!” asserted Holly quickly. “But not everyone! Not if they’re practicing Occlumency! And Paige, she was the best at Occlumency! So’s Umbridge,” Holly admitted. “And I didn’t realize there was a switch until I saw the second Paige, the real Paige under the _Imperius Curse_ …”  
          Sir dropped his wand a fraction. “You could confirm her claims?” he asked making reference to the recent trial. Holly nodded. “Why didn’t you?”  
          “She didn’t ask me to,” replied Holly honestly.  
          “Why not?”  
          “I guess she thought my testimony wouldn’t help…”  
          “Why not?”  
          “Be-because Paige gave me _Oblitus_ a-and I shouldn’t have been able to remember anything but I do…”  
          “Either you remember or you got _Oblitus_. It can’t be both,” scolded Sir. He raised his wand warningly.  
          “I’m telling the truth!” protested Holly swiftly. “You said you would know if I was lying and I’m not! I swear!”  
          “If you really remember, then the potion she gave you was not _Oblitus_ or it must have gone bad,” concluded Sir.  
          “No,” denied Holly. “The potion was _Oblitus_ and it was good. I’m certain of that but we were in the Room of Requirement at the time,” she added explaining, “I needed my memories and the Room got them back for me. They’re mine; I know it! But that’s not good enough for a trial…”  
          “But they _would_ be good enough for McGonagall,” said Sir musingly. “You told her, didn’t you?” Holly nodded. “And she told Potter and Shacklebolt which kept Miss Crowley out of Azkaban despite her confession and all the evidence to the contrary…” Holly nodded again. “…and explains why no assault charges were filed against Crowley with you and Potter as victims…”  
          “It wasn’t her,” asserted Holly. “It was Umbridge, all of it!”  
          “All right, tell me what you observed with Miss Crowley…”  
          Holly shrugged and looked worriedly towards the wall. “She was happy,” she told Sir. “Just like the others. Paige did whatever Umbridge wanted and Umbridge told her to give me the _Oblitus_ …”  
          “Miss Crowley’s abilities weren’t impaired?”  
          “I don’t think so,” replied Holly, “but I don’t know what she’s like normally or when she made that potion. I just know I couldn’t remember a thing until after I went back to the Room of Requirement and got back my memories…”  
          “Interesting,” mused Sir thoughtfully and he looked at Holly with a calculating gleam in his eye. Holly shivered. It suddenly occurred to her that Sir might put her under an _Imperius Curse_ to get her to recite emotions. Would he? How would she know? Sir smiled at Holly. “Now, it is time for you to eat…” he told her and nodded at the table with its bowl of porridge.  
          Holly sighed with resignation. “What about Conner, _Sir?”_ Holly asked worriedly as she stood and walked to the table. She hated the stuff, but hopefully being ordered to eat meant this session would soon be over and Conner would be freed…    
          “Mr. Fitzpatrick?” asked Sir conversationally. “He is not your concern.”  
          “But he is, _Sir,”_ countered Holly as she sat down. “He’s my friend, Sir. You’re done with him, now, right? Sir? You can let him go now, can’t you, Sir? Please, Sir?” Holly hastily scooped up some porridge and swallowed it to show she was cooperating.  
          Sir pointed his wand at the space in front of the table. A new chair seemed to grow out of the floor. He moved up and sat down across from her. Sir smiled. “I never said I was done with him, did I?”  
          “But—” Holly gulped. “No, sir,” she whispered unhappily keeping her head carefully down so the tears wouldn’t show. She scooped up some more stuff and forced it into her mouth.  
          “Who decides what emotions you feel outside the wall?” Sir asked calmly.  
          “You, sir,” answered Holly softly after she had swallowed down another spoonful.  
          “Who decides what happens to the people behind those emotions?”  
          “You, sir,” replied Holly again while filling her spoon.  
          “And does your opinion or desire change that decision?”  
          “N-no, sir,” admitted Holly reluctantly.  
          “And can you stop what I wish to happen to anyone behind the wall?”  
          “No, sir.”  
          “Very good,” said Sir approvingly. “Of course, your behavior can and does affect the length and intensity of what happens afterwards… And other situations may arise which provide opportunities for you to influence what happens to the person behind an emotion, but not this time,” he added smoothly. “This time I had a point to make. Do you know what it was?”  
          Holly swallowed another spoonful while she pondered an answer. What did he want to hear? “That you are in charge, Sir?” responded Holly meekly.  
          “That’s right,” replied Sir approvingly. “You would do well to remember that. Keep eating, Holly,” encouraged Sir. Holly obediently scooped up another spoonful and shoved it into her mouth. “Why should you eat everything in the bowl?”  
          “Because you say so, Sir,” replied Holly dutifully.  
          “And why should you do as I say?”  
          “Because you say so, Sir.” Holly swallowed another spoonful. The answers he wanted to hear were pretty obvious and Holly hoped a “happy” Sir would treat Conner more kindly.  
          Suddenly Sir leaned forward almost close enough to touch. “Where is your home?” he asked while watching Holly intently.  
          Holly hastily forced another spoonful into her mouth while she thought… She knew the answer he wanted, but it wasn’t the truth, not for her, and he also wanted honesty. “Home is where my heart is,” she answered softly.  
          Sir sat back and laughed. “A safe answer,” he said, “for now.” Sir waved his wand. Suddenly Holly screamed and doubled over in agony nearly falling off the chair. Her head throbbed painfully; her fingers, arms and knees hurt. Holly’s stomach felt full beyond belief and she wanted to vomit! “Conner!” she choked out. “What did you do to him?” she moaned in pain.  
          “Quite a few things,” answered Sir calmly. “Actually, he did them to himself. Fascinating how you didn’t notice. You can describe what he feels _after_ you finish your food,” he added firmly.  
          Holly moaned. “My stomach, my fingers, I don’t think I can do it…”  
          “Of course you can,” snapped Sir unsympathetically. “You’re not injured.” He paused and then added. “Remember when I told you there could be opportunities for you to influence what happens to the person behind an emotion? I shall make this one of those times. If you wish, you could _politely_ ask me to put Mr. Fitzpatrick _back_ under the _Imperius Curse_. That way he won’t hurt while you eat, nor will you… Well, which shall it be? Eat or ask?” Sir smiled and waited expectantly for Holly’s response.  
          Holly forced herself to focus despite the pain. Abruptly the pressure on Holly’s stomach eased. Holly swallowed shakily in relief. “Will you just cast the curse or do something else, Sir?” she asked cautiously. The _Imperius Curse_ would provide both of them relief from the pain, if only temporarily, but Holly had a feeling Sir would use the opportunity to force Conner injure himself further if she asked him to again place Conner under the _Imperius Curse_.  
           “Oh, I’m certain I can think of something Mr. Fitzpatrick can do while he is waiting for you to finish your food…” replied Sir. He smiled wider as he spoke.  
_“Some choice!”_ thought Holly grimly. “I’ll eat, _Sir!”_ replied Holly firmly. She was determined to not make Conner suffer more than he already had. Sir’s smile got even wider, if possible, as he watched Holly grip the spoon as best she could and scoop up the final bits of porridge. She placed the spoon into her mouth and forced herself to swallow. Her stomach still hurt, but not as much as before. A small mound of brown appeared at the bottom of the bowl.  
          “Pudding,” announced Sir expansively. “You’re not ready for more … solid rewards… Finish it too,” he commanded coldly. Sir leaned forward. Holly could have touched him if that were possible and she had the strength, but she didn’t. Holding the spoon took up almost all her concentration. “And if you vomit,” Sir added sternly, “I shall expect you to begin again with a new bowl of porridge.”  
          Holly groaned and resolutely dug her spoon into the pudding. “You didn’t have to do that to him, _Sir,”_ Holly protested after she forced the first mouthful down her throat. It was sweet and chocolaty but Holly scarcely noticed. The table was closer to the wall than where she usually stood. Being so close to Conner seemed to magnify his injuries almost beyond endurance.  
          “Of course I did,” replied Sir pleasantly as Holly scooped up a second spoonful. “I couldn’t have Mr. Fitzpatrick using his wand to remove himself from the situation or reporting our activities until after we are long gone… This way he won’t; he can’t.”  
          Holly filled the spoon again and again to eat the pudding. Her stomach had settled considerably by the time she finished. Then, as instructed, Holly gave a recitation of the injuries Conner felt.  
          “Are you finished?” asked Sir. His eyes had narrowed dangerously and he was watching Holly intently.  
          “Not quite, Sir,” replied Holly in a calm sounding voice. “Conner also had a severe stomachache. That eased up a while ago, before I started the pudding. If you must know, I think he vomited. I would have if I could have, _Sir!”_  
          “And you didn’t say anything?”  
          “No, _Sir,_ I didn’t,” replied Holly keeping her voice as unemotional as possible while keeping her head down. They had liked that kind of behavior in the Tom Riddle world. Hopefully Sir would too. Then Holly explained further before Sir could express anger, “You instructed that I eat first and describe what I felt later. I have done exactly that. You also insisted I relate all emotions I feel or have felt. I have done that as well.” Holly felt some small measure of satisfaction that she and Conner might have escaped additional agony by strictly following Sir’s rules… “What I felt was excruciating, Sir,” added Holly quickly while looking up. She said this mostly to distract him. Holly knew full well that Sir could still be annoyed that she hadn’t reported the change soon enough to suit him. “What did you make him do to feel that way, _Sir?”_  
          Sir smiled. “Let’s say that I don’t think he’ll be reading that book of his any more…”  
          Holly blanched at his implication. “That was positively mean, Sir,” she said bluntly. “Surely you could have found some other way to do things, _Sir_ …”  
          “I could have,” agreed Sir while still smiling, “but then I have never claimed to be nice. You can’t feel my emotions Holly” he continued, “and I like it that way, but that means I must use other ways to insure you know that I will do whatever is necessary to achieve my goals.” The smile remained but his voice had turned hard and icy. “I _will_ have my way and I will _not_ engage in kindness or compassion if it is contrary to my purpose. I could easily order Mr. Fitzpatrick to commit suicide if I decide his death is necessary. Do you believe that?”  
          Holly shivered and felt cold at his words. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered softly. “Y-you’re not going to do that are you, Sir?” Holly added fearfully.  
          “Not today,” assured Sir. “I have decided Mr. Fitzpatrick’s life may have value to insure your continued cooperation…” Holly breathed a mental sigh of relief. “Now that you have some taste of what I can and will do to gain your cooperation,” continued Sir, “we can concentrate on the more delicate emotions of others such as truth and deceit. Can you determine such emotions in others, Holly?”  
          “Yes, sir,” Holly whispered, “I think so, _Sir.”_  
          “Excellent. And you will, of course, faithfully and honestly report any and all emotions you sense without exception won’t you?”  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Holly numbly.  
          “I’m glad you understand,” said Sir approvingly. “It will make things much easier for you. See that you get ready for my next visit.” He abruptly waved his wand and vanished. Holly stopped feeling Conner’s pain was left alone in the room.

**********

           Holly sat a long time at the table thinking about what had happened. That her nightmare might be expanded to include friends and family had never before occurred to her. It was a terrifying thought indeed. How could she hope to resist Sir’s will if he threatened those she loved? Could she bear to live with herself if she refused him and they got hurt? What did that make her if she “cooperated” under such circumstances? Did it matter? The end results would be the same. Sir would have his way and she would be his tool. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad… Holly wished she knew more of Sir’s intentions. Maybe what Sir wanted wasn’t as bad as the pain she would be putting countless people through should she resist…  
          Then Holly worried about Conner. Would Sir keep his word and let him live? Holly had assumed that Sir left his victims alone after he had finished with them. What if he hadn’t? The thought that he might have done otherwise was also frightening. Even if Sir assured her that the victims were “fine,” could she believe him? What could she do if she learned otherwise? The helplessness of the situation frustrated Holly. If Sir spoke truly, Holly had gained a small measure of relief for Conner by cooperating and following Sir’s rules. Could she find other similar opportunities?   Would that be enough to offset whatever Sir planned? Would it be enough to enable Holly to live with herself after cooperating with Sir?  
           Holly could find no answers. Eventually she rose and went to the WC. She splashed some water on her face and, using her hands, took several mouthfuls of water from the faucet and spat out repeatedly. The faucet water tasted brackish and foul, barely suitable for washing and brushing teeth. However, it was the only place to get something different from the porridge. Holly felt the need to wash the chocolaty sweetness from her mouth, to wash the memories of Sir’s visit from her mind.  
          When she finished, Holly turned and headed towards the cot. She glanced up casually and froze! _Sir_ was standing against the wall next to the bed! He appeared as a shadowy dark green/gray figure against the usual gray of the wall. How long had he been there waiting? Holly had no idea. Her first thought was to flee to the other room to escape his presence but Holly didn’t. She was frozen in place literally! Holly could see, breathe (somehow) and think, but not move at all—not even to blink! What spell had Sir used? Holly had no idea. _Petrificus Totalus_ caused a person to stand at attention before falling to the ground frozen and none of the other stunning spells Holly knew left a person conscience while in place.  
          Sir glided silently forward pausing in front of Holly and regarded her intently with his cold blue eyes. Then he moved soundlessly past her. Holly could hear the sound of the drawer beneath the sink open. Then there was silence.  
          “I told you to take care to look your best when you are awake,” whispered Sir suddenly in Holly’s ear. She would have jumped in surprise had that been possible. Instead, Holly could feel her heart race wildly and her body flood with adrenaline. Her whole body tried to tense in fearful anticipation.  
          Suddenly Holly felt something light and feathery on her head. A second surge of adrenaline coursed through her body! “Your hair is _still_ tangled and unbrushed,” whispered Sir. “Its greasy and dirty too! Why haven’t you washed it?” And Holly recognized the touch on her head as that of a hairbrush. Despite Sir’s previous instructions, Holly had failed to “improve” her appearance. Part of that was because she had been too sick to care and part had been deliberate defiance—an attempt to control something of her life.  
          Holly stood frozen in place, while Sir silently brushed her hair. Each touch of the hand or brush sent uncontrollable shivers racing through Holly’s body. Sir’s touch was very gentle as he pulled and tugged at the many knots. The long strokes with the brush were almost a caress as Sir used his fingers to smooth the straightened hair strands. Holly stood for what seemed like an eternity while Sir meticulously untangled every knot and smoothed every strand of hair back into place. Then he again appeared in front of Holly and studied her thoughtfully. Holly stood still while Sir experimented with her hair, brushing some of it this way and that, pulling locks in front over her shoulder and back again. Then Sir vanished from view. Holly felt feathery fingers pull her hair back and the brush slide through her hair several more times.  
          “I _will_ have my way,” Sir whispered abruptly in Holly’s ear and suddenly Holly could move again. Her knees gave way and Holly crumpled onto the floor.

**********

          Holly lay curled up into a tight ball not moving from where she had fallen. “Oh, daddy,” she sobbed in despair. “I can’t do this! I’m not brave or strong and I can’t fight him any more!” Holly knew that she would do whatever Sir wanted promptly and without question—anything to insure Sir never had the excuse to _touch_ her again! His touch had been creepy and slimy beyond description. It made her skin crawl just to think of it. Holly also knew that while she couldn’t save herself, she would try to save her friends and the people outside the wall; she’d do whatever Sir asked to minimize their pain, and if Sir said they were “O.K.” she’d believe him because she couldn’t bear to believe otherwise…  
          “Daddy!” Holly begged. “Help me! I don’t want to be _Dark_ , I don’t! But I can’t stop him and I don’t know what to do!” But her father didn’t answer; Holly couldn’t even see his face in her mind any more. Perhaps she really was dead. Dead. That would be nice. Then she wouldn’t feel the outside emotions any more, wouldn’t care. If only she could ignore Sir and what Sir did, truly ignore him, then maybe he’d stop and leave her alone, leave her friends alone…  
          “Pettigrew,” whispered Holly suddenly, thinking of the one person she had never been able to truly ignore no matter what people said and did around her. “I need you!”  
_“You just come along with me, Missy,”_ a familiar cheerful voice whispered in Holly’s ear. _“Louder!”_ Holly ordered herself though the voice already sounded incredibly loud in her head because of the silence of the room. And the annoying squeaky voice sounded like a trumpet call that would not be ignored. _“That’s the way, Missy,”_ Pettigrew said delightedly _. “You just keep one foot moving in front of the other! Don’t you die just yet,”_ he ordered. _“I’ve got someone special for you to meet…”_  
          Holly had been stranded in a world made by Tom Riddle the previous summer. While there, Peter Pettigrew had found Holly overcome by dementors. Pettigrew had recognized Holly’s similarity in appearance to Lily Evans. Then he had gleefully dragged a suicidally depressed Holly up the stairs of Hogwarts to the Headmaster’s Office as a surprise for Headmaster Snape. Pettigrew had continued to verbally visit Holly in the form of PTSD type flashbacks all year long whenever Holly went up the stairs of Hogwarts. Pettigrew’s voice was one flashback Holly hadn’t managed to banish from her mind. She hadn’t really wanted to after his high-pitched squeak had jolted her mind out of the effects of an _Imperius Curse_. Holly could easily remember Pettigrew’s voice and every word he told her that first time up the stairs. Though there were no stairs to mount, the original trigger for her flashbacks, Pettigrew’s voice and memory of it were still locked in her mind. Pettigrew’s voice seemed to take on a life of it’s own; talking to Holly again as if he were there next to her hauling Holly up the stairs at Hogwarts.  
_“Come on, Missy,”_ Pettigrew encouraged.  _“Keep moving!  Not much longer, then you can die all you want.”_   Not that Holly moved. She just lay there listening to the words in her head. The words continued nonstop and Holly welcomed them, embraced them, letting the words fill her very being drowning out all other thoughts in her head. It wasn’t only the words Holly remembered, but the emotions, as well. Pettigrew had hated Headmaster Snape with a passion and while scarcely conscious at the time, Holly’s mind had sensed and _remembered_ every emotion of his. The memory of the Pettigrew’s emotions flooded into Holly as if they were still there. His words and emotions overpowered and blocked out everything else.  
          On and on Pettigrew continued interspersing words of encouragement “ _Just a few more steps, Missy; you can do it!_ ” between anticipated delightful revenge _“Just wait until he sees her…_ ” Holly didn’t know it at the time, but it was Headmaster Snape that Pettigrew had taken her to see thus sealing his own doom by enabling Holly to undo a _Time Reverse Curse_ and get back home. That seemed ages ago now.  
          Pettigrew had originally tied Holly in a chair and left her alone in the Headmaster’s office after telling her to, “ _Feel free to die while you wait, or not…  Either way, this should be good!”_ After which Pettigrew chuckled. It was a nasty chuckle filled with delighted anticipation. Holly’s flashback of Pettigrew ended there too. As Holly lay unmoving on the ground Pettigrew laughed in her mind again; she felt again his happy anticipation. Scarcely had the sound of that horrible laugh died away in her mind when Pettigrew started talking again— _“You just come along with me, Missy,”_ Pettigrew told Holly just as cheerfully as before… And again Holly’s mind traveled up those stairs with Peter Pettigrew, hearing every word, feeling his every emotion along the way…  
           Again and again Pettigrew took Holly “up” the stairs. Her world became a single loop—ever repeating that one segment of time when Pettigrew brought her up the stairs; when he had had total physical and emotional power over Holly. Nothing else mattered, not food, not sleep, nothing—just Pettigrew’s delight and all encompassing will to get her up the stairs.


	9. Chapter 9

_“Venomous Viper_!” announced Pettigrew for the umteenth time and Holly waited for the words that would follow after a moment of silence. The air seemed filled with the scent of cooked food, meat. Huh? Holly felt her head sway and tilt; her eyes fluttered open with the movement. A face appeared in the gray of her mind, blond hair, blue eyes…    
_“Flint!”_ Holly thought with sudden panic. Adrenaline surged through her body! Holly’s hands struck out in forgotten ways.  
_“I’ll show you!”_ Holly heard Wizard Flint snarl as he lifted her out the chair. _“How dare you_ _puke_ _on me!”_    
          In pure terror Holly kicked out with her hands and feet using movements she didn’t know she knew. _“The wand!”_ she thought frantically as she broke away, _“I’ve got to get his wand!”_ Holly looked around with blurry eyes and spied a line of black on the gray concrete curb. She scrambled desperately towards it afraid Flint would get there first. Holly’s fingers tightened around the wand and pulled it away from Flint. Her second hand took the other end and Holly placed the wand against her leg to break it.  
          As Holly pushed down hard, the concrete street surroundings turned to the gray walls of an enclosed room. Wizard Flint’s black and red security clothes turned green. What? Holly’s hand stopped pressing down on the wand and she looked about in confusion. She saw gray walls and a figure in green coming towards her. He looked oddly familiar with cold blue eyes and determined features but he was _not_ Wizard Flint… _“Who???”_ wondered Holly in a daze as he reached out towards her. _SIR!!!_  
_“Stupify!”_ Holly screeched just as Sir’s fingers touched the wand. Sir flew backwards into the wall mushing into it deeply. Feeling suddenly very weak, Holly sank to the floor while clutching the wand tightly. In a daze she watched Sir pull himself out of the spongy wall and head straight for her again.  
_“Stupify!”_ Holly shouted again while pointing the wand at Sir. Sir flew back into the wall, but not so deeply. Again he pulled himself out and headed towards Holly. _“Stupify!”_ Holly shouted. She watched Sir fall back into the wall and pull out again. _“Think! Think!”_ she told herself frantically as Sir headed towards her with determination. _“There must be a better spell…”_  
_“Petrificus Totalus!”_ Holly screamed. Sir straightened and fell to the floor like a board mere millimeters away from Holly.   Holly felt her body go limp with relief. The wand slipped from her fingers and Holly’s eyes closed as she lost consciousness.

**********

          When Holly next opened her eyes she found herself still on the floor. The wand was in sight and beyond it, the stiff body of Sir. Holly cautiously reached out to get the wand, afraid it was a trap somehow. Sir didn’t move. Holly’s fingers curled around the wand and she brought it close to her with considerable relief. Then Holly sat up. The effort left her feeling weak and light-headed. _“What had happened?”_ Holly asked herself. All she could remember was going up the stairs with Pettigrew again and again… Never mind. Holly aimed the wand at the wall from which she always felt emotions and shouted _“Bombardia Maxima!”_ or rather, she tried to. Her voice came out rough and scratchy like one not used or used too much. Nothing happened. Holly wasn’t really surprised. She felt so weak that she doubted she said the spell right. _“Why do I feel so weak?”_ Holly asked herself as she looked down at her hand holding the wand. The fingers gripping the wand were thin and boney. _“Food!”_ Holly guessed suddenly. _“I probably haven’t eaten in a while.”_  
          Not trusting herself to walk, Holly crawled over to the table and pulled herself into the chair. Gripping the spoon with her free hand, Holly scooped up some of the porridge and put it into her mouth. The familiar stuff actually felt good going down her throat. Holly took a second mouthful and a third and then stopped feeling too tired to continue. She rested a bit before forcing a few more mouthfuls down. Then Holly slid out of the chair and back onto the floor. Clutching the wand tightly, she curled up on the floor and went back to sleep.  
          Holly felt considerably stronger when she next woke. She immediately got back into the chair and ate some more porridge this time managing to eat most of it before quitting. Then pressing physical needs caused Holly to get out of the chair and make her way to the WC. Holly managed to walk the whole way on slow unsteady feet. Her head spun the whole time and her legs shook from the exertion. Holly gave the stiff body of Sir a wide berth as she passed by watching it warily the whole time. Sir didn’t seem to have moved a bit from the position she last remembered seeing him in but Holly still didn’t trust him, trust that her spell would hold.   
          Holly got a shock when she looked into the tiny mirror in the WC. Her cheeks were hollow and her eyes had sunken deeply into their sockets. _“How long was I listening to Pettigrew?”_ she wondered.  
          Holly left the WC, staggered over to the cot, lay down, pulled up the cover and went back to sleep. When she woke, she made her way back to the table and sat down. This time Holly finished the porridge. A small bit of something red appeared at the bottom of the bowl. Stewed tomatoes. Holly ate them, too, though she felt rather full from the porridge.  
          Feeling much more energetic Holly grasped the wand tightly and again faced the wall. _“Bombardia Maxima!”_ she shouted. Her voice sounded much stronger to her ear. Sparks seemed to come out of the wand and the wall seemed to quiver. Holly knew she’d done the spell right. But the wall didn’t break, crack, or open or anything.   Disappointed, Holly pointed the wand at another location on the wall. _“Bombardia Maxima!”_ she shouted again. The wand seemed to work but the wall did not break. Holly pointed the wand at a new location and tried again, and again and again. Her strongest spell seemed to make no difference. Exhausted, Holly rested, ate some more porridge and then pointed her wand up at the ceiling. Again and again she cast her spell and though the ceiling seemed to quiver with each spell, the surface held firm. By then, Holly felt rather tired so she walked carefully back to the cot, lay down and went to sleep.  
          When she woke, Holly ate some more porridge (mashed potatoes afterwards) and then proceeded to blast away at every inch of the two rooms and the WC. Surely there had to be a weakness somewhere. But the walls ceiling and floors only seemed to quiver and then hold firm. The bathroom mirror and fixtures all cracked beautifully but mended quickly. The walls behind remained undamaged from her efforts. By the time Holly stopped, the only place she hadn’t blasted was the area beneath Sir. Holly stared thoughtfully at Sir and the bit of floor beneath him. Was it possible that he just happened to be lying on the one spot with a weakness? Holly doubted it. She ate some more porridge while she considered the situation. Then Holly returned to the cot, lay down and went back to sleep.  
           Holly studied Sir thoughtfully while she next ate porridge at the table. In all this time, she had never once sensed an emotion from Sir. How did he do that? Holly would have doubted he was actually there except she had once cautiously poked his body with the wand on her way to the WC to make sure it was solid. Was there another spell she could use to get out of this place? Her mind ran over all the spells she knew and none seemed to fit the situation. Of course, Sir could have fixed the place to open up with an innocuous spell of some sort in which case, Holly could be guessing forever.  
          Finishing the porridge, (tapioca pudding afterwards) Holly got out of the chair and backed into the corner of the room fartherest away from Sir. Then pointing her wand at Sir she shouted _, “Petrificus Reversus!”_ Sir’s body immediately relaxed and went limp. “Don’t try anything,” warned Holly, “or I’ll turn you back, I swear!”  
          “I can believe that,” said Sir calmly as he sat up. He regarded Holly intently with his blue eyes as he stretched out his arms and brushed off his shoulders.  
          “Food,” announced Holly. “You can have some, if you wish.”  
          “That’s very kind of you,” replied Sir, “and the WC?” he inquired delicately.  
          “Uh, yeah,” agreed Holly guessing Sir had lain a long time on the floor and probably had good reason to use it. She watched as Sir stood and stretched. Then Holly followed Sir at a distance and watched discretely to make sure Sir didn’t do anything funny… Holly backed again into a corner and pointed her wand warningly at Sir as he returned to the lit room and sat down at the table.  
          “That was most impressive,” said Sir after he picked up the spoon. “You had me convinced. How did you manage it?” he added after swallowing his first spoonful.  
          “How do I get out?” asked Holly bluntly while ignoring Sir’s question.  
          “You don’t,” replied Sir promptly while scooping up another spoonful. He had to be famished but he ate slowly, deliberately. “I said this would be your home from now on and I meant it,” he added after swallowing another spoonful.  
          Holly studied Sir. He seemed sincere but was he telling the truth? She didn’t know. She wished again she could sense his emotions. “How do _you_ get out?” Holly asked finally.    
_“I_ Apparate,” answered Sir promptly. _“You_ can’t Apparate,” he added calmly. “I could show you,” he added, “but I’d need the wand…” He held out his free hand suggestively. “No?” Sir dropped his hand. “That’s probably a good idea. Beginning Apparaters tend to get splinched a lot and we really don’t have the right kind of potions around for that.” He took another spoonful of porridge and swallowed it before speaking again. “You could order me to Apparate you,” Sir suggested. “That is, if you think you’ve got enough _will_ to manage an _Imperius Curse_ …” There was a mocking smile on his face as he spoke. Holly shuttered involuntarily at the thought of using the _Imperius Curse_ on anyone ever—still, she might finally get some sort of emotion from Sir…    
          Sir scooped up another spoonful of porridge and swallowed it down. “I’ll get the wand back eventually,” he assured Holly in a dead serious voice. “It’s not as if you can use it to go anywhere…” He took another spoonful of porridge. “I suggest you give it to me sooner than later before I get seriously angry,” Sir looked up at Holly expectantly with that mocking smile. Holly didn’t move. “No? Well perhaps I can teach you some flavour spells. You could learn them without giving up the wand. This porridge does have a rather bland taste…” he added enticingly while scooping up another spoonful. “And how to transfigure a bit of floor into a chair so you wouldn’t have to stand all the time.” Sir swallowed the porridge and added lightly, “I’d be happy to teach you. It would be a way to pass the time… We’re going to be together a long time, Holly, you and me,” he told her in a serious tone, “especially if you persist on hanging onto the wand so we should make the best of it don’t you think?” Holly stared at Sir in horror at the prospect.  
          Sir scraped the bowl empty and waited. “Bread pudding,“ he announced looking up at Holly with his blue eyes. “Would you like it?” Sir offered. Holly shook her head solemnly. “Perhaps we could share,” he suggested, “you and me.” Holly stared horrified. “Thank you,” he told Holly politely after waiting a moment and proceeded to eat the pudding. “You know,” Sir said thoughtfully while looking up from the pudding, “If you don’t plan to use the wand and don’t want me to use the wand then you should break it. That way you wouldn’t have to worry about me getting it. Of course, then there’d be no chance of ever getting out again for either of us, but there was never any chance of you getting out anyway…” Sir smiled that mocking smile as if he knew Holly wouldn’t dare break the wand; that would mean giving up any chance of escaping…  
          “Stand up!” Holly ordered in a low voice.  
          “What?” questioned Sir while looking at her curiously. “What do you plan to do?”  
          “Stand up,” repeated Holly more firmly while pointing her wand threateningly.  
          “Are you going to try an _Imperius Curse?”_ Sir asked almost eagerly as he stood up from the table. “You really think you can do it?” he challenged.  
          “No,” replied Holly. _“Petrificus Totalus!”_ she shouted. Sir stiffened and fell forward. “I didn’t want you to get stuck in the chair,” Holly explained to the body on the floor. Also, she needed time to think.  
          Had Sir told the truth about there being no other exits? Probably. It made sense. Why build a prison and include an exit Holly could use? It made more sense to hide a second wand somewhere in the place, which explained why Sir could easily suggest Holly break the wand… What little Holly knew of Apparating confirmed what Sir had said. She had heard numerous older students laughingly discuss splinching injuries and they had sounded ghastly. Even if she could cast an _Imperius Curse_ , Holly doubted her will could hold the curse through the stress of changing locations. She could easily imagine getting splinched in the process, having her body split up in two different locations or, worse, Sir would regain control of his mind and drag her back to the room before she could get the wand away from him. On the other hand, the thought of spending an eternity with Sir was so awful that Holly was tempted to return the wand just to get rid of him a while… Surely there was something else she could try. If only she could think of it…


	10. Chapter 10

          “But I don’t understand,” began Dillon as he looked at Holly’s iridescent Healthstone in disbelief. “If Holly’s alive, then why is her cat _haunting_ us?”  
          “Her cat?” questioned Harry in obvious confusion.  
          “Yes, her cat!” replied Dillon firmly, “it’s haunting us!”  
          “But Holly’s cat’s not dead!” reported Harry. “She’s at our house. We, ah, didn’t think you’d want to be bothered by her…”  
          “Well, something’s haunting us,” retorted Dillon in his usual blustery voice. Amazing how quickly Dillon had bounced back to his normal self with the knowledge that Holly was still alive. “And if it’s not Holly’s cat, then what is it?”  
          “I don’t know,” replied Harry. “Where do you usually see this ghost?”  
          “The kitchen, mostly,” replied Dillon. “On the table…”  
          “May I look?” asked Harry, again his usual courteous self.  
          “Yeah, sure,” answered Dillon. “It’s probably still there…” The three moved off to the kitchen.  
          “What’s happened to Holly?” questioned Laurel Wycliff as they walked.  
          “I don’t know,” replied Harry. “There was an accident, an explosion, actually, a big one. And we all thought Holly had, well, someone went to a lot of trouble to make us all _believe_ Holly had died…” Harry amended without going into details. He opened the kitchen door.  
          “Empty, of course,” grumbled Dillon while looking around. “Who did it?” he added as they walked into the kitchen. “I mean, to Holly; what happened to her? Where is she?”  
          “I don’t know,” admitted Harry. “But I intend to find out!” There was a hardness to his voice that caused Laurel to believe Harry would never stop until he learned the truth. “How long have you been seeing the ghost?” Harry asked Dillon.  
          “Two days now, almost three,” replied Dillon promptly. “It started in the afternoon. It’s been so often that we had to tell my parents Laurel was sick so they wouldn’t visit and accidently see it. I’d have told you to get rid of it if...” Dillon’s voice died away.  
_“If we had a way to contact you,”_ filled in Laurel mentally. Dillon hadn’t said anything, but Laurel could tell he was having serious regrets about severing all connections with Harry Potter once that ghostly cat had appeared.  
          “Did you tell your parents about Holly?” questioned Harry abruptly.  
          “Well, no,” replied Dillon defensively. “We didn’t have a body or a funeral or anything! How could I?”  
          “There was a funeral,” replied Harry absently as he stared around the kitchen, “and a body, though obviously not the right one…” Laurel felt a wave of both guilt and appreciation wash over her. Guilt that she and Dillon had missed their baby’s funeral while at the same time feeling deeply moved that one had been held despite Dillon’s intense hatred of the wizard community.  
          “There it is!” exclaimed Dillon suddenly as a silvery streak shot into the room coming to stop on the kitchen table. The silver swirled into a blob that turned into a silvery translucent cat sitting on the kitchen table. It looked around all the while piteously opening and closing its mouth in silent “meows.”  
          Harry stared at the cat. “It’s a patronus!” he said in a shocked sounding voice.  
          “A what?” questioned Dillon.  
          “A patronus!”  
         “What’s that?” asked Dillon grumpily.  
          “It’s a—” Harry broke off.   “It’s from Holly!” he said excitedly. “It has to be! No one else knows where you live!”  
          “So?” questioned Dillon. “What’s it mean?”  
          “It means Holly has a wand!” Harry told them eagerly.  
          “Well, if she’s got a wand, then why isn’t she home?” asked Dillon practically.  
          “I don’t know,” replied Harry thoughtfully. “But I intend to find out. Thanks!” he added suddenly and dropped the Healthstone into Laurel’s hand. “I’ve got to go now, ” he told them energetically. “I’ve an idea on how to find her…” Harry headed swiftly towards the entrance. He opened the door, then stopped and turned around. “I don’t know who did this, Dillon, but I swear to you I’m going to do everything possible to find Holly and get her back.” Harry stepped outside without waiting for a response closing the door behind him.  
          Laurel looked at the Healthstone Harry had left in her hand. The iridescent pendant seemed to shine especially bright in the light. She unclasped the lock and reattached the chain around her neck. Dillon frowned as she did it but said nothing. Then Laurel wrapped her arms around Dillon. “Our baby is alive!” she whispered in his ear. She felt like singing, dancing, shouting and cheering all at the same time. Instead, she kissed Dillon and hugged him tightly.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Dillon as he wrapped his arms around her. Dillon didn’t look or sound outwardly different, but Laurel was certain he was cheering inside as much as she was. “But where is she?” he added worriedly.  
          “Harry’ll find her,” Laurel told Dillon confidently. After all, Harry was a wizard wasn’t he?

**********

          Wizard Daniel Pilkington, Solicitor, hastened to answer the door after the first knock. Hopefully, that would indicate to the person on the other side his importance and the urgency of the situation. “Welcome, Wizard Malfoy,” greeted Daniel bowing slightly at the tall wizard dressed in emerald green robes who stood in front of him. “Won’t you come in?” Daniel backed away from the door to allow entry and gave a second bow as he moved. “I’m so glad you could make it, especially on such short notice.”  
          “Well, you said it was rather urgent,” replied Wizard Malfoy as he entered the office and looked about. Cherry wood and parlor style furniture. Just as it had been for his last visit. Daniel had a good memory for such things.  
          “It is,” agreed Daniel. “Might I offer you some wine?” he suggested indicating a tray bearing a bottle of elfin wine and two silver and blue goblets.  
          “Perhaps later,” said Mr. Malfoy. “You also said it was a matter of some importance and, perhaps of considerable value?”  
          “It is indeed,” agreed Daniel while picking up the tray. “But it would best discussed in my conference room. “This way,” he said and opened a small door on the opposite side of his office entry. Daniel led the way into a tiny windowless room that contained a small burnished cherry wood table surrounded by a matching set of four chairs. Wizard Malfoy followed. Daniel set the tray in the center of the table using his body to effectively obscure a part of the room. When he stepped away, Wizard Malfoy saw the other person in the room: Harry Potter!  
          “What are you doing here?” demanded Wizard Malfoy with obvious hatred and distrust.  
          “Sometimes I arrange meetings between people who would otherwise not wish to talk with each other,” interjected Daniel smoothly before Mr. Potter could answer.  
          “I have nothing to say to him!” said Wizard Malfoy moving towards the door.  
          “Of course not,” agreed Daniel, “but Mr. Potter has something _he_ wishes to say to you. You need say nothing,” Daniel added as he poured out a glass of the elfin wine, “but as long as you’re here, you could always sip some wine, on Mr. Potter, of course, and hear what he has to say.” That last part was a lie. Daniel would never consider charging for his services, not for something like this. But Mr. Malfoy was perverse enough that he might stick around long enough to drink the wine if he thought Mr. Potter would have to pay for it thus giving Mr. Potter a chance to speak… “You might find it of considerable importance…” Daniel added egnamaticly as he placed the goblet in front of Wizard Malfoy. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he continued without giving Wizard Malfoy a chance to respond. “I’ve some work to get done outside. Why don’t I give you two some privacy to discuss things…” With that, Daniel slipped past Wizard Malfoy and outside the room closing the door behind him. The rest was up to Mr. Potter.

**********

          “I need your help,” Potter said bluntly before the sound of the closing door died away. Lucius Malfoy blinked in surprise. Potter’s statement was so uncharacteristic that Lucius’ intention to sweep out after Pilkington was temporarily forgotten. “How did he get into my mind and tell me about Sirius?” Potter continued not giving Lucius a chance to respond.  
          “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” stated Lucius automatically. He never talked about those days with anyone.  
          “That night in the Department of Mysteries,” explained Potter further. “You know when I mean. How did Voldemort get me to go there?”  
          “I know nothing of the activities of the Dark Lord,” denied Lucius categorically.  
          “Cut the crap,” retorted Potter sharply. “You and I both know exactly who you were with and what you were up to in those days. I kept quiet because of Narcissa, but that doesn’t change anything. We’re alone here and I need to know how he did it!”  
          Lucius studied the person before him. Potter was arrogant and proud with no sense of proper respect even when he wanted something as he obviously did this time. Physically, Potter was much thinner than Lucius remembered and his clothes hung loosely on him. There were dark purple lines under his green eyes and they seemed to glow with feverish determination. “Why?” demanded Lucius. Potter had always been just as silent as Lucius about those days. Why now?  
          Potter looked down, clearly unwilling to answer. Lucius waited. If Potter truly wanted Lucius’ help, he owed him that much. Finally Potter spoke. “She’s alive!” he said in a low voice charged with energy.  
          “Alive?” questioned Lucius. “Who?”  
          “Holly. Holly Wycliff!” came the answer.  
          “The Empath?” Potter nodded. “What makes you think that?” Lucius questioned. He had seen the explosion and the aftermath. “Some clairvoyant? Or has your _son_ picked up some new delusions?” he asked cuttingly. Lucius well knew Potter had never been delusional and probably the boy wasn’t either but the opportunity was too good to miss.  
          Potter flushed at the suggestion but held his temper. “Her mother’s _Healthstone_ makes me think that,” Potter replied in a cold voice.  
          That gave Lucius a pause. “Her mother has a Healthstone?” he asked in disbelief. Everyone knew the father was xenophobic. That there had been a Healthstone in the house was quite surprising.  
          “Yeah.”  
          “And you’re only finding out about it now?”  
          “It was kept hidden,” Potter added as explanation. “I wasn’t about to rub it in when I brought them the news…”  
_“No,”_ agreed Lucius silently, _“not with grieving parents…”_ The information changed everything. If the child wasn’t dead and she hadn’t returned home, then she must be a prisoner someplace... Guest of a very enterprising wizard… Intriguing… “Do you know who did it?” questioned Lucius curiously.  
          “No,” replied Harry flatly, “but I shall find out.” And his green eyes hardened making Lucius very glad this was not his plot…  
          “Where is she?”  
          “I don’t know,” admitted Potter. “That’s why I need your help. So how did he do it?” he asked returning to the original question.  
          Lucius thought. “Why?” he asked again. “Such communication is only one way,” Lucius informed Potter in case he didn’t already know. “She wouldn’t be able to tell you anything. What do you plan to say? “Hang in there, we’re looking for you?”  
          “No.” Lucius waited.  
          Potter took a deep breath. “She’s got a wand!” he added.  
          “A wand?” said Lucius in disbelief. “What makes you say so?”  
          “She’s been casting a patronus,” replied Potter.  
          “Seriously?”  
          Potter nodded.  
          “She’s what, third, no fourth year?” Casting a patronus was difficult enough but at that age?  
          Potter nodded again. “James apparently taught her the basics last year,” Potter added making reference to his eldest son. “She’s been sending it to her parents. I’ve seen it. If I could get Holly to send the patronus somewhere else, then maybe we could use it to find her. So will you help me?”  
          Lucius studied Potter—Still proud, but so hopeful and desperate at the same time. “I have no idea how the Dark Lord communicated with you,” Lucius said bluntly. Potter’s body seemed to sag with the news. “There was some special connection between him and you,” Lucius added explaining. “He never said what.” Potter nodded without comment convincing Lucius that Potter already knew about the connection.  
          “Thank you for your time,” Potter said quietly looking totally defeated as he spoke. He stepped past Lucius towards the door. Lucius watched him with disbelief. After all this time did Potter truly have no idea of the ways of Dark Wizards? Could he really be so naive?  
          “There are other ways to speak through the mind,” said Lucius bringing Potter to a halt. Lucius wasn’t sure why he had said it, except the thought of controlling Potter’s action with mere words was quite satisfying. Potter turned and looked at Lucius with new interest. “They are less elegant and more cumbersome than the methods the Dark Lord used but still effective…” Lucius continued suggestively.  
          New hope seemed to flare in Potter’s eyes. “Do you know how to—”  
          “Me? Of course not!” denied Lucius righteously. “Why would I have use for spells such as that?”  
          “Would you know someone who does?” Potter asked hopefully.  
          “Of course not,” lied Lucius. “I do not associate with those kind of people.” He did, upon occasion, but would never admit to it or send Potter to any of them. That was too risky—for him and them.  
          “A book?” persisted Potter.  
          Lucius shook his head. “It is one thing to know of the existences of such spells,” he added piously, “but another to traffic in that kind of information to others even for a good cause. It’s illegal to send messages through the mind as you well know.”  
          “Yes,” agreed Potter reluctantly. “That’s why I thought,” he began hopefully and then stopped. “Never mind. Thank you for your time,” and Potter again turned to leave. The defeated slump had returned, but not as much. Lucius could tell Potter hadn’t given up on the idea…   But he should. The idea was ludicrous. No one of that kind would ever talk to Potter.  
          “You’re the “Great” Harry Potter!” Lucius reminded Potter. “No one would ever admit to knowing such things to you. It’s too dangerous!”  
          Potter swung around. “Including you?” he questioned with blazing eyes.  
          “Including me,” admitted Lucius readily. “I like my freedom. People who do that sort of thing would never admit to it; they would just do it and look for results…” He picked up the goblet and took a sip of the elfin wine. It tasted as exquisite as before. “I do thank you for the wine, though,” he added. “You should try some,” Lucius told Potter. “It’s quite good.”  
          Potter stared back at Lucius. The spark had died from his eyes. “I’ve got to go,” he told Lucius dully and again headed for the door.  
          Lucius watched. Potter was proud, too proud to beg, but Lucius could tell Potter was still determined to try even when he knew he would likely not succeed… The Dark Lord had admired that about him, and it had been his downfall. Lucius knew it would be safest to let Potter walk, but sometimes it was useful to cultivate a potential ally and manipulating Potter’s actions so far had been most rewarding…  
          “Of course, knowledge is never enough for such spells…” Lucius spoke out just as Potter touched the doorknob causing him to again freeze in place. “There are certain other things required for success…” Lucius added suggestively.  
          “Such as?” questioned Potter turning to look at him again with interest.  
_“Yes, most rewarding,”_ thought Lucius with satisfaction. “Some blood of the subject would be nice,” began Lucius aloud. “Hair will do, but it’s not as good. A message, of course, and a messenger.”  
          “A messenger?”  
          “Yes. Nothing new can be added to the mind for this kind of spell,” Lucius explained. “It requires that a practitioner rearrange what is there so it takes the form of a new thought or message. A pre-designated person to act as the messenger, one known to both the subject and the sender, would save considerable time. Often a practitioner will spend hours going through a subject’s mind to find and create the right combination of words and images to bring about the desired response. Properly done, the subject will think message is actually his or her own idea… But you would have no need for that kind of subtlety,” Lucius continued thoughtfully.  
          “However, you must assume the wizard holding Wycliff prisoner is doing the same thing to further bend her mind to his will. So the messenger must not be someone the Dark Wizard would use or has possibly been using or Wycliff’ll treat the message with suspicion… That means you’re out,” Lucius concluded with relief knowing he could never use Potter’s image for anything without warping it somehow, “as would be family, friends and professors…” Lucius took another sip of the elfin wine. “An interesting problem…” he added and set the goblet back down on the table. Lucius studied Potter thoughtfully and came to a decision of his own.  
          “My, my,” Lucius said aloud suddenly while staring intently at Potter, at his green eyes. “I do believe it has gotten hot in here.” Lucius spoke slowly, deliberately exaggerating each word. “Or it could just be the wine,” Lucius added as he carefully unclasped his robe, folded it and lay it on the table. “It is very good,” Lucius continued conversationally, “but quite strong…” He picked up the goblet and finished the contents in a large gulp before setting it down again. “Very strong,” added Lucius with satisfaction. It tasted even better knowing Potter would be paying for it… Potter watched curiously as Lucius also took off his jacket. Normally, the robe would do, but Lucius had the feeling Potter had never done this sort of thing before and would need something more obvious. Lucius carefully hung his coat on one of the chairs. “If you don’t mind,” continued Lucius in an arrogant sounding voice, “I believe our discussion is over…” He walked to the door, his presence forcing Potter to back away.  
          “Oh, dear,” said Lucius loudly as he turned the handle of the door. “I do believe I _forgot_ my coat and robe…” Potter looked from the robe and the jacket to Lucius in confusion. “I shall have to _return_ to retrieve them…” continued Lucius all the while looking at Potter expectantly. “At 4:00.” Potter stared at Lucius in bewilderment. Then he nodded his head slowly as comprehension and hope suddenly dawned in his face. He was _such_ an innocent. However had Potter managed to defeat the Dark Lord?  
          “Good day, Potter,” finished Lucius airily and swept out of the room.  
          Pilkington was sitting at his desk reading papers. He stood hastily at Lucius’ arrival and quickly moved to the door. “Well?” questioned Pilkington as he opened the door bowing slightly as he spoke. Pilkington knew how to display proper respect.  
          “You were right,” Lucius told Pilkington. “It was a matter of some importance and value.”  
          Pilkington nodded his head in satisfaction. “I’m glad you agreed,” he said cheerfully as he opened the door. “Good day, sir,” added Pilkington as Lucius stepped outside.  
          “Good day,” returned Lucius with a smile and he walked down the hall.  
          The kidnapping had been ingenious. Flawlessly executed. The Wycliff child would have made an excellent tool for any wizard aspiring to power, had it succeeded. Who would have expected a Healthstone in the family? It was the little unknown details that could disrupt everything. Even then, the plot may have succeeded and the Healthstone may have lain unviewed for years had Wycliff not gotten hold of a wand. Letting her cast a patronus had been sloppy indeed. The unknown wizard would be wisest to cut his losses now, if he could. Potter would never give up the hunt now that he knew Wycliff was alive.  
          No matter. The plot against Wycliff was not his so Lucius had no problem trying to interrupt it. Mind spells were child’s play…   And the knowledge that the “Great” Harry Potter would soon owe _him_ a favor gave Lucius considerable satisfaction indeed.

**********

          Lucius returned to Pilkington’s office at exactly 4:00pm. It had been a rather boring day waiting around until 4:00.   Lucius was tempted to return earlier, but one didn’t do that with “arranged” pick-ups and drops, assuming Potter actually figured out what Lucius had suggested. One never spoke directly about “questionable” activities. Deny-ability had to always be possible. Some clients “turned” on their employees (talked) after a spell was cast, especially if it backfired, causing no end of difficulties and possibly prison for the person accused of casting the spell. Potter was no client, thank goodness, and Lucius doubted Potter would talk afterwards; Potter had kept quiet enough about things before, but it never hurt to stay careful.  
          Lucius had done a bit of research during his time waiting for 4:00pm—Not on Potter, Lucius knew enough about Potter, on Pilkington. Pilkington had known just what to say to get Lucius into that Conference Room and how to keep him there long enough for Potter to talk. Last spring, Pilkington had gotten him and Narcissa to talk about things never before mentioned to anyone, not only talked, but sign paperwork concerning them. Together, the two acts indicated a person worthy of Ravenclaw and much smarter than he appeared.  
          Pilkington, Lucius had learned, was more than an enterprising young solicitor with an impeccable pureblood background, Ravenclaw though it was. There were lots of cases on file bearing Pilkington’s name. Most had been resolved in favor of Pilkington’s clients… Lucius found nothing when he cross-checked Pilkington’s name with Potter, but it was a different story when he cross-checked it against Wycliff. Lucius learned Pilkington had served as Wycliff’s solicitor, which explained much. It was probably the reason Potter had gone to Pilkington instead of one of his friends to arrange their meeting in the first place; Pilkington had an interest in keeping Wycliff _alive_ as a client. Pilkington had also filed a restraining order against Rita and the _Daily_ _Prophet_ to prevent them from hunting out the Wycliff family and had filed some creative paperwork getting the courts to declare the Wycliffs “Unplottable,” as if that were actually possible. Buried further away, Lucius discovered that Pilkington was on record as alternate guardian for Wycliff should something happen to Potter… That meant both the Wycliffs and Potter trusted him, trusted him a lot. Potter did not “trust” easily and Lucius was certain the Wycliffs “trusted” even less. Why had Pilkington been selected over all the other people Potter knew better? Pilkington would be one to watch.  
          Lucius raised his hand and gave a single knock. The door opened immediately as before but it was not Pilkington on the other side. Instead, a young man, with blond hair and blue eyes wearing Slytherin green answered the door.  
          “Hello,” the man said cheerfully. “Uh, come on in,” he suggested backing away from the door while giving Lucius a rather formal courtly bow. Lucius stepped hesitantly inside the office. This was not how things had happened before and a change in routine, especially before a “drop,” made him feel distinctly nervous.  
          Pilkington sat at his desk and looked up from some paper he was reading. “Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” he greeted warmly while getting up. “May I help you?” Pilkington asked while putting down the paper he held.  
          “Uh, I believe I may have left my robe and jacket behind when I was here this morning,” began Lucius cautiously.  
          “Did you?” questioned Pilkington in an innocent sounding voice. “I hadn’t noticed.” Like heck! How could he have _not_ noticed something like that? Clearly, Pilkington could _lie_ with the best of them! “Wizard Flint,” began Pilkington while addressing the young man, “Would you be so good as to check the Conference Room for Wizard Malfoy’s robe and jacket?”  
          “Yes, sir,” agreed Wizard Flint. He opened the Conference Room door and swiftly vanished inside.  
          “Wizard Flint is helping me file some paperwork,” explained Pilkington genially while indicating a rather large wood-tone filing cabinet in the corner of his office and a stack of folders on the nearby coffee table. The cabinet hadn’t been there before or the last time Lucius had visited Pilkington’s office. Lucius stared at the Conference Room entrance suspiciously. Papers could be filed on any day at any time. Pilkington probably knew about the 4:00 “pick-up.” Why have Flint in the office on this day at this hour? Of course, it was important to keep up appearances of “business as usual,” but Lucius suspected Flint was _not_ part of usual business… That honour would have gone to some Ravenclaw…  
          “Excuse me,” said Wizard Flint as he reappeared with both jacket and robe, “but would you, by any chance, be related to Wizard _Lucius_ Malfoy?”  
          “Yes,” replied Lucius warily wondering why Flint asked. Lucius reached out for the clothes Flint held in his arms.  
          “Forgive me,” interjected Pilkington smoothly. “But I forget myself. Wizard Malfoy, this is Wizard Macklin Flint, of the Ministry, and my assistant today; Wizard Flint, this is Wizard _Lucius_ Malfoy, who did me the honor of a visit this morning.  
          Flint’s eyes seemed to grow wide with the introduction. _“The_ Lucius Malfoy himself?” he questioned in open disbelief.  
          “Yes,” affirmed Pilkington without hesitation. _“The_ Lucius Malfoy himself.”  
          “This is such an _honour_!” exclaimed Flint dropping the robe and jacket on Pilkington’s desk and grabbing Lucius’ hand with both of his own. Flint began to pump the hand up and down in an enthusiastic handshake. “I never ever thought I’d have the opportunity to meet the _great_ Lucius Malfoy!” Flint continued without letting go of the hand.  
          “Great?” questioned Lucius in confusion. He had never before heard himself referred to as “great” nor encountered someone so clearly … _happy …_ to meet him…  
          “Yes, sir,” continued Flint shaking the hand along with Lucius’ arm and body. “Your family is one of the oldest pureblood wizard families in Great Britain if not _the_ oldest! And certainly the oldest _Slytherin_ one!” Flint said with total undisguised admiration. Then suddenly the shaking stopped and Lucius felt his hand released from the double handhold. “Oh, uh, sorry about that,” said Flint with instant embarrassment. “Let me help you with your coat instead,” he added swiftly and picked the jacket up off the desk before Lucius could refuse.  
          “Uh, thank you,” said Lucius knowing not what else to do. Flint’s behavior was unusual and inappropriate, but his enthusiasm and sincerity seemed genuine… Lucius could see Pilkington’s eyes twinkle with amusement at his discomfort. Had he expected something like this? It was clear Flint had never before attempted to put a jacket on someone else; he nearly tore Lucius’ jacket in the attempt. Lucius would have been offended, but Flint was so apologetic and eager to please at the same time… Then Flint proceeded to try to dust the jacket off slapping Lucius rather heavily in the process while worrying loudly about having possibly wrinkled it…  
          “If you don’t mind,” came the cold voice of Potter just as Flint was finishing up, “You’re blocking the entrance and I believe I have an appointment.” Lucius turned and saw Potter standing just behind him in the doorway.  
          “Ah, yes,” said Pilkington smoothly. “4:05pm exactly. You’re right on time.” Lucius frowned in annoyance. Potter should be nowhere near when a “pick-up” was made; deny-ability was compromised. “If you’ll come with me, I have some papers for you to review…” Pilkington continued walking away from his desk. Potter slid past Flint and Lucius ignoring both as he did.  
_“Well, that part was right,”_ thought Lucius. _“At least he didn’t look or behave as if we had had business together…”_  
          “Is that … Harry Potter?” questioned Flint suddenly. “ _The_ Harry Potter?”  
          “Yes, it is,” agreed Pilkington amicably while holding up a folder he had taken from the top of the filing cabinet. “Mr. Potter, may I introduce to you Wizard Macklin Flint, my assistant. Wizard Flint, this is Wizard Harry Potter.” Potter turned and looked at Flint for the first time. His expression was neither warm nor welcoming. Flint gave Lucius’ jacket one last hasty brush on the shoulder before hurrying past him to shake Potter’s hand. “Wizard Flint is helping me file papers today,” continued Pilkington. Lucius slid his hand into the pocket of his jacket. It contained an envelope that hadn’t been there before.  
          “So I see,” murmured Potter coolly as Flint proceeded to grab Potter’s hand with both of his and shake it up and down enthusiastically. He no doubt noted, as did Lucius, that Flint was _not_ filing papers… Lucius used the opportunity provided by Flint’s distraction to pull the envelope out.  
          “This is such an honour,” gushed Flint while Lucius quietly opened the envelope. “I never thought I’d be able to meet you—and on the same day that I got to meet another great wizard…”  
          The envelope contained several strands of blonde hair and a folded piece of paper. Lucius unfolded the paper and quickly read the message. _“Short but specific,”_ he thought. _“It could work…”_  
          “Wait until I tell all my friends!” continued Flint nonstop. “They wanted me to try something else for lunch besides roast beef today…” Lucius looked up just in time to see both Potter and Pilkington seem to wince at the words “roast beef.” He wondered what that was all about as he returned the envelope to his pocket. Now was not the time to pursue that.  
          “Yes, well, I’m not paying you to shake hands,” reminded Pilkington genially. He pulled out some papers from the folder and handed the folder to Flint. “You can file this with the others,” he told Flint who reluctantly released Potter’s hand to receive the folder. “And these are for you to review,” Pilkington told Potter. “Get back to me later after you’ve looked them over.”  
          “I will,” said Potter taking the papers. He returned to the entrance pausing next to Lucius to look at the papers he had been given.  
          “Will that do?” he asked Lucius in a low voice that could not be heard by either Pilkington or Flint who were now busy transferring files from one drawer to another.  
          Lucius inwardly rolled his eyes in exasperation. Bad enough Potter had appeared at the “pick-up,” but to speak… Oh, well. The damage was already done. Besides Lucius had something to say too. “The messenger?” he questioned instead in an equally low voice. The envelope had contained only hair and a message. Potter did not answer. Lucius finally glanced up at Potter looking for a response. Potter’s attention appeared to be totally on Pilkington and Flint. He did not seem to have heard Lucius. Lucius looked at the two filing papers. Was the answer between them? Did Potter intend one of them to be the messenger? Surely not Pilkington? Pilkington was the family solicitor. That was nearly as bad as Potter. Lucius was sure he had made that part clear… Lucius looked over at Potter again. No, Potter wasn’t looking at Pilkington, he was looking at—.  
          “No!” Lucius whispered in disbelief. “You can’t mean _him!”_ Potter didn’t say anything but continued to watch while Flint carried a file and disappeared into the conference room. It was definitely Flint he was looking at. And Lucius remembered how unusual he had thought it was for Flint to be there in the first place… This explained his presence totally—a way to make him known to Lucius without explaining things to Flint… “Does she even _know_ him?” asked Lucius when Flint reappeared with this silly grin on his face and reached out for another folder.  
          “I believe they shared a lunch together last spring,” replied Potter in a low voice.  
          Lucius vaguely remembered reading something titled _“Lunch with Holly Wycliff”_ in the _Prophet_ a while ago. Was that Flint? Lucius looked again at Flint. He had just dropped a folder of papers and was busily picking up the scattered papers. “But… Seriously?” protested Lucius.  
          “If you were a Dark Wizard, would you use _him_ to convince Holly of anything?” asked Potter softly.  
          Lucius looked again at Flint. He had managed to drop the papers a second time and was again picking them up. No one would give this puppy a second thought. “Point taken,” murmured Lucius while studying Flint’s appearance and mannerisms, memorizing them for future reference. “But will _she_ take him seriously?”  
          “You have _no_ idea,” replied Potter in an undertone. Lucius looked over at Potter with interest. The tone and words suggested Wycliff had shared more than a single lunch with Flint. Interesting…  
          “Very well,” sighed Lucius returning his mind to the matter at hand.  
          “When?” questioned Potter in a more urgent tone.  
          “Midnight, I think,” replied Lucius thoughtfully. “Anytime after that if it’s going to work…”  
          “Thank you,” Potter replied with emotion. Lucius never thought he’d hear a “thank-you” from Potter for anything… Potter folded the papers and put them under his jacket.  
          Lucius turned and watched as Potter left the office and started down the hall. “Rita!” Lucius said suddenly surprising himself and stopping Potter in his tracks.  
          Potter turned and looked questioningly at Lucius. “Rita,” repeated Lucius. He hated Potter but had nothing against the girl. In fact, Scorpius had been rather upset at her “death” and had insisted the family attend the child’s “funeral.” “The child is not un-liked in the wizard community,” Lucius added explaining further. “I expect you have people ready to watch for this,” Lucius continued while patting the envelope in his pocket, “but I think the more eyes the better. Rita can get the whole _Prophet_ readership looking too. If you’re really serious about finding her you should go to Rita.”  
          Potter stared at Lucius for a moment and then he nodded solemnly. “Thank you,” Potter said gravely and turned a corner vanishing from sight.


	11. Chapter 11

_“Expecto Patronus!”_ shouted Holly. A small silvery form shimmered and took shape. “Home!” whispered Holly lovingly and shooed the tiny cat off. It headed towards the wall and passed right through it without stopping. At least that’s what Holly hoped it was doing. She couldn’t tell once the cat vanished from sight. Holly tried to keep warm thoughts of home and family in her mind as long as possible and then she counted. “One… two…three…four…” All the way to one hundred. When she reached one hundred, Holly lifted her wand, focused and shouted Expecto Patronus again…  
          Holly was incredibly thrilled when she actually cast her first patronus, especially after all the derogatory things Sir had been saying. Holly had been trying to cast her spell while in the “sleeping” room with the lower lights. Being frozen in the “eating” area with the wall and the brighter lights, Sir couldn’t see what Holly was doing, but he could hear…  
          Sir praised Holly’s ambition when Holly finally unfroze him and let him eat. Sir told Holly he understood why Holly would to want to learn the how to cast the patronus after that nasty dementor attack she had had last spring, but the patronus was a rather useless spell considering her current circumstances. After all, there were no dementors to worry about here... Sir repeatedly doubted Holly would ever achieve success given her extreme youth and it’s difficulty. He speculated that the only reason Holly chose this particular spell was because she knew trying would keep her busy a very long time... Sir suggested that Holly’s time would be better spent learning food and decoration spells and offered to teach her a few...  
          Later, Sir complimented Holly’s persistence on attempting to do a spell way too advanced for her, one she could never achieve, and offered several pointers to help. He told Holly there was no way she could cast a patronus if she insisted on trying to dredge up old stale memories of non-existent family and friends instead of using more recent ones. Sir suggested Holly try thinking of a strawberry or of him while trying to cast her patronus as she had no other life worth remembering…  
          Holly ignored most of what Sir said. If Albus could cast the patronus last spring, so could Holly. She also knew that a patronus could be used to send messages. Sir probably knew that too, though he never admitted it and Holly never asked. Holly never responded to anything Sir said. She was too afraid that once she spoke she’d say too much and tell Sir something more than he already knew… Holly was terrified that Sir might learn her mum had a Healthstone, that mum and dad already knew she was alive and were out there searching for her... That thought had kept Holly going many an hour… Holly was afraid if Sir found out, he would find a way to prevent them from finding her… Of course, it was also possible that mum never pulled out the Healthstone or looked at it recently but Holly chose to believe otherwise.  
          Just because Holly never answered, didn’t mean she hadn’t listened. Sir had been almost right when it came to finding happy memories. Holly couldn’t seem to picture her family or friends in her mind. She knew she’d been happy but memories of that happiness seemed to slide away whenever she tried to focus on them. Holly didn’t know how, but she was certain Sir had something to do with that. It was merely by chance that Holly discovered she could actually picture Headmaster Snape standing straight and tall ready to protect her… He looked as he had for the portrait she had once painted. It wasn’t exactly a “happy” memory but it was strong enough to cause something silver to burst from the wand. The more Holly worked at it the stronger the shape of her patronus became until it was beautiful kitten definite enough to send away.  
          Did Sir know she had actually achieved a patronus and was sending it out? Holly didn’t think so. She always whispered the “home” part. It pleased Holly to think she was doing something Sir knew nothing about, but recently, the knowledge that Sir didn’t know didn’t seem as pleasurable. Holly had succeeded in completing a very complicated spell and did anyone know? Praise or at acknowledgement from an enemy was almost better than nothing.  
          As much as Holly hated to admit it, Sir was probably right. The spell had given her purpose as something to do, but as a means to escape, learning the patronus had been a waste of time. Holly had no idea if her patronus actually made it to her house. Perhaps her home was too far away… And what good was her patronus if it reached her home? It couldn’t talk. Even if Holly could figure out how to make her patronus talk, Holly had no idea where she was or what to have it say to help her family find her. Holly couldn’t even make it say all the things she wanted to tell her parents if she could only see them again… Holly had cast the spell so many times that a part of her was certain if her patronus was a way for someone to find and rescue her it would have surely happened by now... Despite her uncertainties, Holly continued to cast the patronus spell and send it “home” telling herself she would quit once she thought of something better to do…  
          “Home!” whispered Holly yet again and sent her silvery kitten off. “One… two…” Holly stopped. She felt tired, really tired. She’d lost track of the number of times she had cast the spell since she had last eaten or slept. The spell didn’t seem to work as well when she was tired. Holly didn’t bother to go to the cot. Instead, she tucked the wand in her lap, slid her body the rest of the way to the floor, curled up and closed her eyes. She’d cast some more patronus spells when she woke... Holly fell into her usual dreamless sleep.

***********

          Abruptly the angry face of Wizard Flint exploded into Holly’s mind! “How dare you _puke_ on me!” he spat angrily; Flint’s face contorted in pure malice.  “I’ll show you! Send that patronus straight up into the air so we can trace it back to you! You lousy Non!”  
          Holly woke with a jolt as adrenaline flooded through her body! She opened her eyes and actually felt relieved to see the familiar gray room, hated though it was. “ _Flint!”_ Holly thought to herself while she tried to stop shaking and slow her panicked breathing. _“I haven’t thought of him in ages, let alone dreamed about him. Why now?”_  
          Holly sat up and leaned her back against the wall. _“But it isn’t right!”_ she reflected. _“I’ve met Wizard Flint and he isn’t like that at all, not now. So why am I thinking of him like that?”_ Holly frowned as she tried to remember what Wizard Flint had said, _“something about patronus? But Wizard Flint wasn’t worried about patronuses… Hadn’t Healer Winonan said she should worry when her flashbacks said something new?”_ Holly suddenly shivered. _“Was that the sign of somebody invading her mind?”_ Holly questioned herself. It had been ages since she last tried to practice Occlumency, she realized guiltily. Holly hadn’t bothered once she’d gotten the wand…  
_“But this couldn’t be Sir’s doing,”_ Holly mentally protested. _“Sir is frozen stiff! He couldn’t invade my mind, could he?”_ While Holly couldn’t sense Sir, she knew from previous experience with the spell that his mind was still active. Had Sir been using his time to find ways to get into her mind? Had he succeeded? If so, why attack her use of the patronus? Sir had told Holly numerous times the patronus spell was a waste of time. If Sir was entering her mind surely the message would be more useful to him, like “give Sir that wand!” and he wouldn’t use Flint to do the persuading…    
          Holly again cast her mind to the dream. It was so unusual to dream about a person, any person, that Flint’s appearance had to mean something. Holly struggled to remember the exact wording of the patronus part. Something about “up” and “trace…” Holly’s eyes widened with sudden excitement. It _was_ a message! But not from Sir—from someone else, someone who knew of Flint and that Holly had been casting a patronus; someone who wanted her to change direction of that patronus… Cousin Harry! It had to be him. _Up?_ Yeah, Holly could manage that! Especially if someone was out there watching for it, and there had to be someone, why else send the message?  
_“Expecto Patronus!”_ shouted Holly with new energy. A small silvery form shimmered and took shape. “Up!” whispered Holly excitedly. “Up, up, up!” she added impatiently while sweeping her wand up causing the cat to fly into and through the ceiling.  
          “They know! They know! They know!” Holly sang to herself as she sent up another patronus. Telling herself that her family knew she was alive and looking for her was one thing; knowing it for _certain_ was totally different!  
          Holly had been so focused on the revelation that Sir had been at the World Cup: watching her; following her; drugging her and she _never knew_ , that she scarce gave a thought to Sir’s comments about _faking_ her death. It was only later Holly realized that no explosion, however impressive, would have convinced her parents she was dead—not while they had her Healthstone. After much consideration, Holly decided that anyone looking for her would have a better chance if Sir didn’t know. So Holly never corrected Sir’s insistence that she was “dead” to family and friends and fortunately, Sir never brought up the subject of pursuers.  
          As time wore on, Holly despaired of any rescue and feared her parents had never looked at the Healthstone, never seen her patronus. But now, Holly knew different and she joyfully sent up patronus after patronus...

**********

          Harry Potter landed his broom next to the dirt road. It was nearly dawn. He was cold and tired. Not sure how much time they had to find Holly’s patronus, if it showed, Harry had gotten together with Hermione, Wizard Pilkington and Dean Thomas, head of Magical Law Enforcement and drawn up a search grid placing the village where the Wycliffs resided (specific address not revealed) at the center. Then, Harry assigned areas on that grid for himself, family members, friends and trusted volunteers to patrol in hopes of spotting the patronus.  
          Harry leaned the broom up against the wall and looked around. There was just enough light by which to see. He was standing next to a low rock wall and beyond it was a pasture with sheep standing in it. “Dean?” he called out cautiously. He’d been given general directions, and hoped he had followed them correctly.  
          “Here,” came Dean’s voice. It seemed to be coming from just ahead in the pasture but Harry couldn’t see anyone. Harry scrambled over the wall and headed towards the sound.  
          Suddenly the pasture seemed to be filled with people in wizard robes, not that many people but infinitely more than before. Harry recognized Dean striding confidently forward towards him. Behind him followed a second wizard, older, tall and thin. “Hallo, Harry,” said Dean when he drew near, “Had to take down the wards first,” Dean added obviously noting the surprised look on Harry’s face at their sudden appearance. “It’s remote here,” he added, “but I didn’t want the risk of being observed by the _wrong_ people…”  
          Harry nodded. The kidnapper surely couldn’t be with Holly if she was able to send out a patronus and might return at any time. “Are you sure,” he asked Dean anxiously.  
          “Think so,” Dean replied, “but we needed you to see to be sure…”  
          “Is this it?” the man behind Dean asked eagerly. “Is this the “up” you were looking for?”  
          Harry blinked in surprise at the man’s question. “Huh?”  
          “This is Wizard Paternoster,” introduced Dean. “He’s the one who called in the tip.” Dean and Wizard Pilkington had remained on the ground to check out the tips called in by witches and wizards who thought they had seen something… With Rita’s help, word had been passed throughout the wizard community to “look up” after midnight for anything odd or unusual.  
          “I don’t know,” answered Harry honestly. “Where is it?”  
          “Over there, “ said Wizard Paternoster impatiently. And he pointed to the clump of people ahead of Harry standing around waiting. Harry recognized a couple of aurors, Wizard Pilkington and Rita Skeeter, who was fashionably dressed in some bright coloured outfit. She clutched her matching purse and gave a smug looking wave when she saw his glance. “Rita says she won’t pay until you confirm it’s the “up” you want,” the man continued. “So, is it?”  
          Rita had sent out a special edition of the _Daily Prophet_ alerting readers that, “Something was _up_ with Harry Potter...” and promised 100 galleons to the reader who spotted and called in the location of the _something unusual_ Harry Potter was looking for in the sky before he could find it…  
          “I don’t see anything,” replied Harry bluntly.  
          “Wait,” insisted the man confidently. “You’ll see. Me an’ the lads thought we’d go out huntin’ t’night, you know, t’ see what we could see…” Mr. Paternoster continued while Harry watched. “Mabel, that’s me wife, said it was a waste o’ time; that it wus sum promotional cooked up by th’ _Prophet_ an’ we never had no chance o’ anythin’… but we went out anyways. Well, once we got in th’ air, we decided to split up ta increase our chances.” Mr. Paternoster paused. He pulled out a flask, uncorked it and took a swig. “Want sum?” he offered and held the flask out to Harry.  
          “No, thanks,” Harry said absently while he watched… Was there really something to see?  
          “But then we got inta an argument because no one wanted to go north, you see,” continued Mr. Paternoster in a nonstop patter while he put the flask away. (“There’s nothin’ o’ interest out thata ways, you know,) so we decided to draw straws an’ I got th’ short un…,” Mr. Paternoster paused to take a breath and then added, “I flew up north a bit an’ flew around awhile an’ was about ta quit an’ go ta bed when I saw sumthin’ bright shoot up in the distance an’ I flew over to investigate… When I got near, it happened again an’ I said to myself, “this is surely it!” I did. So I went off ta find Rita…”  
          Suddenly something silvery shot into the air. It was so fast Harry couldn’t see where it originated and the ball of light seemed to go straight up vanishing swiftly into the starry night. His heart leaped in excitement.  
          “There—see—is that it?” asked Mr. Paternoster again.  
          “It could be,” said Harry tentatively. It had been so fast it was hard to tell.  
          “Comes about every 3-5 minutes,” murmured Dean, “from the same general location.”  
          “Well?” demanded Mr. Paternoster.  
          “Um,” said Harry not wanting to commit himself. If he was wrong and they called off the search because of this and Holly was still out there somewhere else... “How long has it been doing this?” Harry questioned.  
          “At least two hours,” replied Dean, “more if you start counting from the time Mr. Paternoster first saw it.”  
          “I saw it near three am., I did.” volunteered Mr. Paternoster eagerly.  
          Another something silvery suddenly appeared and another ball of light seemed to go straight up vanishing swiftly into the starry night.  
          “It doesn’t start from the ground,” observed Harry worriedly.  
          “No,” agreed Dean. “It starts about 2 meters off the ground. Can’t determine a source or cause either so it’s definitely not Muggle.” Dean glanced at Harry and then back at the area where the flash had occurred. “Too fast to tell for sure,” he added thoughtfully, “and it’s further away than we anticipated…” An experienced wizard could send a patronus quite a distance, but since Holly was a beginner the group had guessed she had to be closer to home for her patronus to successfully reach her parent’s house. “…but it’s the right colour and I think it’s got a tail…” Dean finished speculatively.  
          Had that been a tail at the end or just some thickness of traveling light? What else could it be? “It’s got to be it,” replied Harry hopefully. “Nothing else fits!”  
          “Right!” said Mr. Paternoster cheerfully. He turned “’e says it’s th’ one!” he said loudly to Rita. Rita looked expectantly up at Harry. He nodded reluctantly. None of it was what he expected when he had suggested sending the patronus “up,” (a searchlight effect with a cat on top was more his idea,) but what he had seen was within the realm of possibility.  
          Rita smiled. “Well, congratulations!” she said cheerfully. “I do believe you’ve won the prize! Why don’t you come over here so I can take your picture?”    
          Mr. Paternoster eagerly complied. “What is it?” he asked as Rita’s camera took several photos of the smiling man and Rita’s pen took down the specifics of his find. Harry and Dean moved closer to the point where the light began.  
          “Some magic experiment gone wrong, I suppose,” answered Rita dismissively. “Why else would Wizard Thomas be here?” Harry had been emphatic that nothing about the kidnapping and faked death be released to the public afraid the news would somehow put Holly in more danger. “He’d probably try to sweep this under a rug if you and I weren’t here…” she added airily.  
          Another something silvery suddenly appeared and the ball of light went straight up vanishing swiftly into the starry night. Yes, that had to be a tail on the end…  
          “Why don’t you and I go to the office to get your prize,” Rita said as she packed up her things. Wizard Paternoster nodded eagerly and pulled out his wand. “Let’s just move away from all the action, first,” she suggested. Rita pulled out her own wand and sauntered toward Harry with Mr. Paternoster close behind. “I’ll send you the bill,” she murmured as she passed. Harry nodded silently. The 100 galleons were coming out of his pocket—that was the price of keeping the kidnapping a secret. There were two loud _cracks_ and both people were gone.  
          Harry turned towards Dean. “Well, we know where she is, how do we get her out?”  
          “We don’t,” replied Dean promptly.  
_“What?!!!”_  
          “Lookit, Harry,” began Dean. “We’ve been talking it over while we were waiting for you. That’s a patronus shooting up into the sky,” he told Harry. “I sent some practice ones in the air myself just to make sure. Now if you’re certain Holly is suddenly sending her patronus into the air (Dean had prudently not asked _how_ Harry knew that) then this is Holly’s doing. Holly is right there in front of us!”  
          “Right,” agreed Harry. “So how do we get her out?”  
          “We don’t,” repeated Dean. “We can’t. Don’t you get it?” demanded Dean. “That patronus is coming out of the middle of the air because where Holly is, it’s unplottable!”  
          “Unplottable!!! But—”  
          “You know the rules of unplottable places,” continued Dean without letting Harry finish, “you need a Secret Keeper to get in. I don’t know why Holly can’t get out but we _can’t_ get in—not without a Secret Keeper.”  
          “But surely, you can force your way in,” persisted Harry.  
          “That wouldn’t do Holly any good, even if it _was_ possible, which it isn’t,” Dean told Harry. “If we could destroy or dismantle the spell from the outside, the whole area would collapse in on itself, much like what happened with the Tom Riddle room.”  
          “There must be some way!” insisted Harry.  
          “Think about it, Harry,” replied Dean in a placating tone, “Lord Voldemort _knew_ you were staying at the Black mansion and he knew its general location yet they never made it in. If there was a way to get into an unplottable place without a Secret Keeper, don’t you think Lord Voldemort would have done it to get at you?”  
          “So, what’ll we do?”  
_“You_ , do nothing, Harry,” replied Dean promptly. “Too many eyes are on you, especially after this publicity stunt,” he added explaining. “I’ll assign some aurors to watch this area for approaching wizards; maybe we can catch him unawares coming in or out. I’ll also continue the investigation of the explosion at the World Cup. We’ve been asking everyone about their recollections of the day, we’ll add wizard presences and placements to that question list. I imagine everyone was looking at the explosion except for one wizard—the one who was hustling out a kidnap victim... Maybe someone saw him… We’ll see if the memories match and look for anomalies.  
          Now that we know for sure the explosion was the work of a Dark Wizard, I can assign the aurors to help with the investigation. Some of them are friends of Holly’s, remember? They’ll never let up. Also, we’ll research the unplottable records. See if anyone knows of anyone with an unplottable residence in this area or, if this is a recent construction, see who has been looking into unplottable spells or unplottable spell-casters… We’ll get him!”  
          “But, what about Holly?” asked Harry bleakly.  
          “We’ll get her out, too,” assured Dean confidently, “just not today. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to do.” Dean walked swiftly over to the aurors leaving Harry standing alone.  
          Another silvery patronus suddenly appeared. “Holly!” moaned Harry in despair as he watched the patronus, Holly’s plea for help, go straight up and vanish, as did his hopes to free her. “What’ll I do?”  
          Wizard Pilkington came up and stood next to Harry. “It’s unplottable, isn’t it?” he stated softly without curiosity. He was only seeking confirmation.  
          Harry nodded numbly. “I’ve got to her out,” he whispered desperately while staring at the place the patronus had just been, “but I don’t know how…”  
          “Hmmm,” said Wizard Pilkington sympathetically. “I may have an idea…”


	12. Chapter 12

          They were just finishing the midday meal when Laurel Wycliff heard the knock on the door. She immediately dropped what she was doing and hastened to answer the door wiping her hands on her apron as she moved. “Ho—” she started eagerly in anticipation but the word died on her lips. It was only Harry, Harry Potter, alone. He wore his usual gray suit, which looked rather rumpled. His face looked tired and worn. “Holly?” she questioned hopefully.  
          “No,” he answered softly. “Sorry.”  
          “Well, where is she?” demanded Dillon loudly coming up from behind Laurel.  
          “Uh, may I come in first,” Harry asked politely.  
          “Yes, of course,” replied Laurel suddenly remembering her manners. She backed away to let him in. “Won’t you sit down?” Laurel invited.  
          “Thank you.”  
          “Some tea, perhaps,” offered Laurel as Harry walked into the living area. She and Dillon followed.  
          “No, thank you,” replied Harry as he sat down on the sofa. “Not today.” Laurel sat down across from Harry. Dillon pulled up one of the other chairs and did the same.  
          “Where’s Holly?” demanded Dillon again. “You said you’d know where she was if you got that hairbrush of hers,” Dillon added not giving Harry a chance to respond.  
          “I do,” replied Harry in that same soft voice. “Uh, do know where she is,” he added completing the sentence.  
          “Well?”  
          Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, it seems that knowing where Holly is and getting her out are two different things…”  
          “You’re kidding,” scoffed Dillon in disbelief.  
          “Think of a box,” began Harry, “an invisible box with no doors or windows. Holly is in that box. Now, we know where that box is, but we cannot get in because there are no doors or windows. And Holly, she apparently can’t get out for the same reason.”  
          “So, break it open!” persisted Dillon practically.  
          “I’d like to,” agreed Harry, “but if we did, then the box would collapse and kill Holly.”  
          “So, how do you get in?” questioned Laurel.  
          “We have to find the kidnapper and get him to let us in,” answered Harry promptly.  
          “Fat chance of that,” grumbled Dillon.  
          “Probably,” agreed Harry, “but unfortunately, it’s the only way. When we find him, we may be able to persuade him otherwise…”  
          “May?”  
          “May. I can’t guarantee the behavior of others, Dillon,” replied Harry, “especially in matters such as this.”  
          “What do you know about the kidnapper?” questioned Laurel before Dillon could get into a discussion about possible behavior.  
          “That he kidnapped Holly,” answered Harry bluntly. “And without that Healthstone,” he added looking directly at the pendant that now hung prominently from Laurel’s neck, “we wouldn’t even be sure of that. Whoever did this is very clever and has covered his tracks well.”  
          “What are you doing about finding him?” questioned Dillon.  
          “We’ve been questioning all the people at the World Cup in the hopes someone will remember something that will give us a lead…”  
          “But there was supposed to be a lot of people at that,” whispered Laurel remembering Holly’s description of the Cup before she left.  
          “Hundreds,” agreed Harry. “But we figure the kidnapper had to be British or at least very familiar with Great Britain as he chose this country from which to operate. That narrows things down some.”  
          “Not much,” grumbled Dillon.  
          “No,” agreed Harry, “but it’s something.”  
          “And what about Holly while you do all this questioning?”  
          “Holly’ll be fine,” assured Harry, but his voice had a hollow ring to it. “Your stone tells you that. The kidnapper doesn’t want her dead or he wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble. He won’t hurt her, either, not physically, because that could affect her Empath gifts which is logically the only reason why he wants her in the first place.”  
          “Not physically?” questioned Laurel picking up on his qualification.  
          Harry sighed. “He no doubt wants Holly’s cooperation,” he began reluctantly. “I don’t know what he’s doing to gain it but it’s probably quite persuasive. Holly’s alone and dependent upon him, well, not so dependent while she has that wand,” Harry amended, “but she’s still vulnerable as long as she can’t get out…” his voice trailed off. “You know, I do think I’d like a spot of tea,” Harry said suddenly. “Would you be so good as to get me some?” he asked Laurel.  
          “Certainly,” replied Laurel while hastily getting up. She moved swiftly to the kitchen and pulled out the teapot. Laurel was glad the water was already hot so she wouldn’t have to take long.  
          “What do you mean I might want to ask your people to _not_ look for Holly?” Laurel heard Dillon ask. Laurel quickly grabbed some cups and saucers, and put them on a tray.  
          “She’s _alive_ , right now,” Laurel heard Harry reply as she filled the teapot, put it on the tray and rushed back to the living room. “And in good health. But that could change once the kidnapper figures out _we_ know she’s alive and are looking for her.”  
          “What do you mean?”  
          “I mean this guy’s dangerous, Dudley. No matter how quiet we try to keep things, he’s bound to find out we know—he may know already after that stunt I pulled last night,” Harry added reflexively. “I mean, it was fine if we could have gotten her out but since we can’t, he’s bound to figure out what I tried and why.” Laurel set the tray on the coffee table and placed the cups and saucers in front of Harry, Dillon and set aside one for herself.  
          “So?”  
          “He dressed some poor kid to look like Holly and then _blew_ her up, Dudley!” replied Harry bluntly, “just so we’d be convinced Holly was dead!” Laurel shivered at the thought as she made her way back to her chair. “He’s playing for keeps. If we get too close he may decide it’s safer to cut his losses.”  
          “Cut his losses? You mean kill her?” demanded Dillon.  
          “Yeah. It’s possible the guy would decide to just muddle her mind so she can’t testify against him, but I doubt it. Killing Holly would be quicker and less complicated.”  
           “He could do that anyway if Holly doesn’t cooperate couldn’t he?” whispered Laurel fearfully as she sat back down.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Harry bleakly. “But he must have planned on Holly not cooperating so there’s less chance of him killing her for that.”  
          “So what are you saying?” questioned Dillon. “That we just sit back and do nothing?”  
          “I’m saying we’ll keep on digging and looking for the kidnapper, but if you really want Holly to stay alive, leaving things be is something you should consider!” replied Harry earnestly.  
          “And do nothing?” questioned Laurel in a tiny voice.  
          “Yeah.”  
          “That’s unacceptable!” asserted Dillon forcefully. “Surely there’s something we could do!”  
          “There’s nothing more I can do,” answered Harry. He reached out, picked up the teapot, poured some tea into his cup and set the pot back down. “But there _might_ be something _you_ could do…”  
          “What? What is it?” demanded Dillon.  
          Harry picked up his cup, took a sip of tea and set it back down before answering. “It’s something involving … ah, funny stuff,” replied Harry tentatively. “No, I’m not going to lie to you or play around with words, Dudley,” said Harry more firmly. “There’s something you can try but it uses magic, serious magic… It’s risky and may not work…”  
          “Well, do it!” insisted Dillon.  
          “That’s the problem,” replied Harry. “ _I_ can’t do it, only _you_ can!”  
          “Huh?”  
          “It’s Family Magic,” explained Harry. “Very _old_ Family Magic. It’ll only work, if it works, if you do it and then because you’re Holly’s father.”    
          “But, I’m not a W-you know, or anything,” Dillon reminded Harry.  
          “That’s why it’s risky and may not work,” replied Harry. “Actually, there’s a good chance it won’t work,” Harry confessed. “I don’t think it’s ever been tried before, and I wouldn’t suggest it now if things weren’t so...” Harry broke off. He set the saucer back down on the coffee table. Then he looked up at Dillon. “But it’s the only thing I know to try that has a chance of working, a chance of getting Holly back, _now_ and not some unforeseeable future. Lookit, Dudley, if I knew of any other way to get Holly out believe me I’d be doing it.”  
          “What happens if Dillon does this, ah, magic?” questioned Laurel.  
          “If it works, we’ll have Holly out by tonight.”  
          “And if it doesn’t?”  
          “Then it doesn’t work. Holly will be no worse off for us having tried. The kidnapper won’t even know what we’ve done. We’ll continue as we are, looking for the kidnapper, unless you say otherwise.” Harry paused and then added, “It’s possible Dillon could experience some side effects afterwards just for trying it.”  
          “What kind of side effects?” asked Dillon worriedly.  
          “No idea. Hopefully nothing more serious than some nasty memories… But like I said, it’s never been tried before so I don’t know for sure.”  
          Dillon reached out and poured himself a cup of tea. His hand kind of shook as he did it spilling the tea onto the saucer. “Wh-, uh, what do you want me to do?” he asked fearfully.    
          Harry picked up his cup and took another sip of tea, “Not here; not now,” he replied calmly as he set the cup back down. “I know how you feel about us and magic, Dudley,” Harry continued explaining. “This spell is more than a few simple words. It may or may not get Holly out but if you try this stuff you could tie yourself to, uh, our lot, much more than you are now, in ways you never imagined. The whole idea may be me grasping at straws,” Harry added. “And it may not be a straw you wish to grasp. She’s your daughter and the final decision is yours, not mine. You need a chance to think about this first.”  
          Harry reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “Your place is sort of a magic free zone,” he explained as he set it on the coffee table next to his teacup. “I think it would be best if it stayed that way. If you decide you wish to try this, meet me at this location before 6pm tonight. I’ll be waiting. If you don’t come, I’ll understand.”    
          Harry rose from his seat without waiting for a response. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Wycliff,” he said formally giving a slight bow as he spoke. “I’ll be going now.” Harry moved swiftly towards the door reaching it before Laurel could reply or finish standing up to show him out.  
          “Mr. Potter!” Laurel called out quickly as she heard the door open. Harry reappeared in view. “What ways would it tie Dillon to your, uh, lot?”  
          “I’ll explain that to Dillon if he decides to try the spell,” he answered calmly.  
          “No,” argued Laurel, “I think you should explain it now! How can Dillon make an informed decision without knowing everything?”  
          “Uh, yeah,” added Dillon fearfully.  
          Harry looked from Dillon to Laurel and back to Dillon. “You said it was _Family_ Magic,” reminded Laurel. “So whatever you’re thinking of trying affects me too!”  
          Harry regarded the two for a full minute before replying. “Very well,” he said calmly. Harry straightened his glasses and cleared his throat before beginning. “It’s called the “Fetch” command,” he said softly. “Only house elves can do it and then only for children of their house. The idea is that you take on a house elf and then maybe the elf can “Fetch” Holly and bring her home.  
          Dillon positively whitened at the mention of a house elf. “K-Kreacher?” he questioned licking his lips nervously.  
          “Yeah, Kreacher,” agreed Harry dryly, “only not Kreacher, another elf,” he added without explaining further. “It’s chancy you can take on a house elf in the first place. If that spell succeeds, you’ll have the elf in your family from then on whether or not she succeeds in “fetching” Holly. 6:00 tonight,” Harry abruptly reminded them and stepped out of view. Laurel heard the door close with a resounding click.

 **********

          Laurel Wycliff looked uncertainly from the now empty entrance to Dillon and then down to the coffee table where the envelope Harry had left behind lay like a red flag. “I, uh, think I’ll clean up,” said Laurel. She bent down and hastily collected the cups and saucers leaving the envelope behind, untouched. She wondered what house elves were, in particular “Kreacher” and was phrasing her question to ask when Dillon abruptly stood.  
          “I gotta take a walk,” Dillon muttered and charged towards the door. Laurel heard the sound of it opening and shutting soon after leaving her alone in the house.  
          Laurel returned the tray and dishes to the kitchen. Then she went into her bedroom, selected a jacket and set it, along with her purse, on the chair near the coffee table, just in case. Next, Laurel washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. After that, she swept and mopped the floor. It didn’t look dirty, but you never knew.  
          Then Laurel pulled some meat out of the freezer and started chopping vegetables to make a stew for dinner—something that could sit on the stove for hours and need only reheating if necessary. Afterwards, Laurel took down her grandmother’s silver tea set and proceeded to polish each piece very carefully. When she finished, Laurel put her cleaning supplies away and took a cookbook off of one of the shelves. She thumbed through the pages pretending to read the recipes looking for a dessert she could make but in reality, she was watching the clock…  
          At 5:30pm Laurel set the table for dinner. Then she prepared some garlic bread to go with the stew and turned off the stove. After that, Laurel pulled out a kitchen chair and waited, watching the clock. The second hand steadily turned and minute after minute the hands on the clock continued relentlessly forward.  
          Laurel heard the door open at 5:55pm. She hurried to the front room in time to see Dillon pick up the envelope. “I’m going!” he told her as he opened the envelope. “I’d never live with myself if I didn’t try.”  
          “It’s too late!” protested Laurel as she grabbed her jacket and purse. “We’ll never get to wherever it is in time!”  
          “His _straw!”_ muttered Dillon fiercely as he pulled out the folded paper within the envelope. “He’ll be there!” And Laurel wondered if the lateness had been deliberate: a way for Dillon to say he tried and an excuse to not go through with it, whatever _it_ was, if Harry weren’t there… She hoped Harry would be there. “What are you doing?” Dillon asked looking up from the paper and suddenly realizing Laurel had her jacket and purse in hand.  
          “I’m going with you,” Laurel replied determinedly. “He said it was _Family_ Magic,” she added explaining. “Holly is my daughter too. You’re not doing this alone!”  
          Dillon nodded, almost with relief. Then he handed Laurel the paper.   “Can you, uh, _this?”_ he asked.  
          Laurel looked down at the paper. She saw a neat map drawn on the page and below it was a message:  

**Bring along the pillowcase from your pillow, Dillon— One that you have been using and has not been washed.**

          “Uh, yeah, I can do that,” Laurel said. She hurried to the bedroom and grabbed Dillon’s pillow from the bed and rushed out to the auto where Dillon had already started the engine and was waiting for her. She could strip the pillowcase from the pillow while they drove. Dillon backed the auto out as soon as she got in and they were on the main road headed for the location Harry had marked on the map before Laurel had a chance to buckle up.

**********

          The map led them to a quiet neighborhood on the other side of the village. Dillon turned up the driveway of a small cottage that had a “For Sale” sign stuck prominently in the front yard lawn. The time was 6:36pm.  
          After double-checking the map to make sure they had the right place, Dillon got out of the auto and headed towards the front door. Laurel followed close behind while clutching the empty pillowcase.  
          Dillon reached out at the front door and knocked once. Nothing happened. He looked at Laurel doubtfully then knocked again, louder. Nothing. Dillon’s hand wavered and then moved down to the doorknob. He was about to grasp it when the door suddenly swung open on it’s own creaking loudly as it moved. Laurel peered in. It looked fairly dark inside. Dillon looked apprehensively at Laurel. She gave him an encouraging smile and nodded her head. Then Dillon stepped inside. Laurel followed. The two stepped hesitantly into the entryway. The door moved shut behind them without either of them touching it. Dillon and Laurel both started at the resounding “clunk” of its closing. Then Dillon ventured forward with Laurel close behind, shielded by Dillon’s body. The house was totally bare of furnishings save a small, unpainted wood table and three matching chairs. Curtains covered the windows. A three-legged brazier filled with glowing coals sat on the table and provided the only illumination. A small iron poker lay on the table next to the brazier.  
          Harry Potter sat in one of three chairs. He wore black robes that looked like the ones Laurel had seen his friends wear once when they had come to rescue their children. Harry’s elbows rested on the table, his hands were clasped, a short stick, his wand, stuck out on one side. His forehead was bowed and rested against his fingers. Harry looked up at their arrival. His eyes fixed upon Laurel. “You should not be here,” he told Laurel bluntly. Harry looked rather fearsome and intimidating in those black robes. Laurel had only seen him in a rumpled gray suit before and now she realized how reassuring that clothing selection had been.  
          “You said it was _Family_ Magic,” she told him bravely. “I’m Family.”  
          Harry stared at her silently for a long time. Laurel met his gaze squarely willing him to see her determination. Then Harry nodded. “Very well,” he said solemnly. He rose from his chair. “Have a seat,” he invited. “Is that your pillowcase?” he asked Dillon after they had sat. Dillon nodded.  
          “Not washed,” volunteered Laurel. “I pulled it off the pillow.”  
          “Good,” replied Harry. “Place it on the table, please.” Laurel did. “Wait here, he told them. “I’ll be right back.” Harry moved into one of the back rooms leaving Laurel and Dillon alone.  
          Laurel looked around the room with its bare walls. It looked eerie in the light of the glowing coals. The silence was oppressive. Impulsively, Laurel grasped Dillon’s hand. It felt cold and clammy. “It’ll be O.K.,” she whispered assuringly to him though in truth she knew no such thing and felt quite the opposite.  
          Harry Potter returned presently. In one hand, he held a chair similar in appearance to the ones already around the table. His other hand was behind his back. There was someone behind his back. Not someone, some _thing,_ some—was that a house elf? Laurel didn’t know, as she had never seen one before. She could make out what appeared to be the tip of huge pointy ears peeking out from one side or the other of Harry’s body. Dillon suddenly took hold of Laurel’s hand and gripped it tightly.    
          Harry moved quietly forward and placed the chair next to Dillon near the table. Then he removed the hand from behind his back and pulled with it what had to be a house elf. It was small, about a meter tall with bat like ears, thin bony arms and legs and seemed to be wearing a huge dirty gray rag draped about the body like a toga. The free arm was covering its face like a very shy child. Dillon’s whole body seemed to shutter and he gripped Laurel’s hand so tightly it hurt.  
          “Come, on,” Harry encouraged the creature in a gentle voice. “Have a seat.” The elf reluctantly climbed onto the empty chair Harry had placed next to Dillon. Dillon cringed and leaned into Laurel as far away from the elf as possible. Laurel could see it better; instead of sitting properly, the creature curled up its legs so the feet rested on the seat of the chair and the knees helped hide the head. Laurel could barely see a nose that looked the size and shape of a large tomato but for the most part it kept its head and face covered by its hands.  
          “This is Winky,” introduced Harry. “She is a house elf. Winky, this is Mr. Dillon Wycliff and Mrs. Laurel Wycliff.”  
          “Mr. Potter,” began Laurel firmly. “Before this gets any further, it sound to me like this house elf stuff is wizard _slavery!_ ” Laurel had finally gotten the story of Dillon’s encounter with the house elf called “Kreacher” while on the drive to the house. Inheriting elves? Seriously?!!  
          Instead of answering Laurel, Harry looked down at the elf. “Winky, are you a free elf?” Keeping her head and face covered, the elf nodded. “Do you want to be Mr. Wycliff’s house elf?” The elf nodded its head again.  
          “Winky was a house elf of a very old wizard family,” Harry added softly in explanation while still looking at the elf. “She was given her freedom over twenty years ago. I was there when it happened. Winky was very upset. Some elves desire their freedom, but not Winky. I found her this morning in the Hogwarts cellar, drunk, or what passes as drunk for house elves. I’d seen her there before and it’s where the other elves tell me she has been for most of her “free” existence. I would not have even considered this hair-brained scheme if I didn’t know in the back of my mind that there was a house elf who wanted this to happen as much as we did.”  
          “I understand you have a house elf,” Laurel accused seeking other solutions.  
          “I do.”  
          “Why don’t you ask him to “fetch” Holly?”  
          “I did,” came the quiet reply. “He tried, but he couldn’t do it. He said I wasn’t Holly’s father and the magic just wouldn’t work.”  
         “It probably doesn’t work in the first place,” muttered Dillon skeptically.  
          “On the contrary,” replied Harry calmly. “Kreacher “fetched” my son Albus from his dorm room this morning without any difficulty and that’s supposed to be an incredibly secure location protected by all sorts of wards and spells. I have every reason to believe that if this spell succeeds Winky will be able to “fetch” Holly from wherever she is too. Winky thinks so too. Do we continue?”  
          Laurel looked at Winky. “Is this what you really want?” she questioned.  
          Winky dropped her arms momentarily, looked at Laurel with bulging brown eyes, “Yes, m’um,” she squeaked in a high teeny kind of quivery voice. “I is _wanting_ proper work.” Winky then rapidly hid her face again. Dillon clutched Laurel’s hand even tighter.  
          Laurel looked at Dillon and then looked down at the table. She didn’t know what to say. The whole idea of a taking on a house elf was incredibly repugnant. On the other hand, if Winky was truly willing—the chance of getting Holly back was so tantalizing…  
          “Get on with it,” muttered Dillon determinedly. “What do I do?”  
          Harry sat down in the fourth chair. “The first thing you must do,” he began, “is to remove the towel…”  
          “What???!!” squawked Dillon in protest. “You can’t expect me to…”  
          “I can, and I do,” replied Harry firmly. “It’s how the spell begins and the towel is a crucial part of the spell.”  
          “But—that means it would be, uh, nakk,” Dillon lowered his voice, “without any clothes!” he explained in embarrassment.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Harry without sympathy. “You don’t have to _look_ , just remove it.”  
          “Couldn’t you?”  
          “No, I couldn’t,” replied Harry firmly. “It wouldn’t help Holly any if I did,” he added in a more understanding voice. “This spell takes specific action on the father’s part or it won’t be binding…”  
          Winky leaned her thin body over towards Dillon so the knot on the shoulder of her toga type outfit was easily reached. Dillon gulped. “Uh,” he said as he gingerly reached out with two fingers—he paused and looked over at Harry. “Couldn’t it, uh...?”  
          “No!” said Harry emphatically. “It must be _you_ or it won’t work…!”  
          “Please!” whimpered Winky in her high squeaky voice muffled though it was from beneath her hands. Laurel sensed rather than saw Dillon’s other hand reach out. She looked away and waited.  
          “Uh, yeah,” said Dillon after a while. “Now what?”  
          “Lay the towel out on the table,” instructed Harry.  
          When Laurel next looked, the towel was laid flat on the table. The ends where the knot had been were crumpled, bent and encrusted with grease and dirt. It was incredibly dirty and filled with holes. She wondered how the elf could have ever worn such a thing… Winky had not left the chair but she was modestly curled up in a tight ball with mostly back, arms and legs showing. Harry pulled out a rather thick pouch from beneath the robes. He opened the pouch and emptied its contents onto the towel. All sorts of powders, chunks and lumpy things fell out.  
          “Wh-what’s that?” asked Dillon.  
          “Herbs, potion stuff—magical ingredients,” answered Harry vaguely. “Normally, you would add some of your hair to it,” Harry continued explaining, “but we’ve added Holly’s hair instead as she’s, ah, “wizard.”  
          “We?” ventured Laurel timidly.  
          “Wizard Pilkington and I,” expanded Harry. “Actually, more him, than me,” Harry corrected. “I don’t do spell revisions…”  
          Laurel vaguely remembered Holly’s description of Wizard Pilkington—the wizard who had helped her while she was in the Tom Riddle world and later became Holly’s secondary legal guardian should something happen to Harry. “He’s smart,” Holly had said, “Very smart!” Smart—that was reassuring.  
          Harry gave the envelope a resounding thump to make sure it was empty and then tossed the container in the brassier. It flared up suddenly sending bluish-green colored flames into the air. They all watched silently as the paper turned brown, then black and curled as it burned. Then it was nothing but ash.   Harry picked up the small poker lying next to the brazier and stirred the ash breaking up the bits of paper into smaller bits. He set the poker down.  
          “I hate to do this, Dillon,” Harry said apologetically, “but this spell requires blood—your blood.” He pulled out a small knife with a black handle and a shiny silver blade. “You need to cut yourself on the palm of your left hand and drip the blood onto the towel over the magical ingredients…”  
          Dillon’s face seemed to go slack. He looked down at the knife without touching it and up at Harry. “I, uh, don’t think I, uh, c-can do this, Harry,” he managed to stammer.  
          “Holly,” whispered Harry. “Long blonde hair the color of gold. You once told me that when she smiled, it was like the sun was coming out from behind the clouds. Holly’s not smiling now, Dillon,” Harry continued persuasively. “She’s not smiling at all. She’s all alone in some horrible—” Harry broke off. “Holly _needs_ you Dillon,” Harry continued. “ _You!_ Are you going to let a few drops of blood stop you from rescuing her?”  
          With grim determination Dillon picked up the knife with his right hand placed its point against his left palm and sliced down. A dark line appeared upon his palm and drops of blood, black in the dim lighting, fell onto the towel.  
          “That’s good, Dillon, very good,” praised Harry in a soft voice. “No, don’t wipe your hand,” he said hurriedly. “You’ve got to make another cut… Not on you, but on Winky…”  
          “No!” whispered Dillon in horror. Laurel saw Winky raise up one of her thin bony arms and hold it out in front of Dillon. “No!” whispered Dillon again.  
          “It’s got to be done, Dillon,” insisted Harry. “Not much,” he assured Dillon. “Just make a small cut on top of her wrist, deep enough so some blood spills onto the towel too… I’m told it doesn’t hurt her much, not really… Think of Holly!”  
          Winky moved her arm even closer to Dillon, to the knife in his shaking hand. She held it right under the point… Laurel buried her face in her hands unable to watch.  
          “That’s enough Dillon,” came Harry’s soothing voice. “You can put down the knife.” Laurel looked up and saw the knife on the table and Winky’s wrist, still held out, with a thin black line that continued to drip onto the towel.  
          Harry continued to talk. “The last part very important,” he began. “Don’t do anything yet,” he instructed. “I want to explain things to you first.” Dillon looked up expectantly at Harry. “You’ll have to grab hold of Winky’s wrist with your cut hand. The two cuts have to intersect, ah, touch, so the blood mingles. While you are holding Winky’s wrist, fold up the towel with your free hand and place it, and its contents in the brazier. When it starts to burn, hold your hand and Winky’s wrist over the smoke and say these words,” Harry placed a small slip of paper in front of Dillon, “three times. The words are written phonetically,” he told Dillon, “so just say what you see. Can you read it O.K.?” Dillon nodded silently. “Good. They are orders commanding Winky to be yours. Say them like you mean it,” Harry instructed. “Intent and will are everything in magic. Why don’t you try them once,” Harry suggested.  
          “Uh, _Sis mea elf. Elf bi liom. Elf yn fy?”_  
          “Try again with more confidence!” instructed Harry.  
          “ _Sis mea elf! Elf bi liom! Elf yn fy!”_  
          “Better,” approved Harry, “think of Holly, what you’d like to do to the bastard that did this to her…”  
**_“SIS MEA ELF! ELF BI LIOM! ELF YN FY!”_** Dillon practically thundered with a ferocity that frightened Laurel.  
          “That’s the way,” approved Harry. “Do it that way while the towel is burning. Can you do that?” Dillon nodded. “Any questions?” Dillon shook his head.  
          “Very well. Let’s do this! Grab hold of Winky’s wrist.” Laurel watched Dillon take firm hold of Winky’s wrist. It was so small and thin his fingers reached all around the wrist. “Keep hold of Winky and fold up the towel.” Dillon did as he was told making a small packet with the towel. “Good. Now, place the towel in the brazier.” Dillon’s shaky hand lifted the folded towel and placed it into the brazier. Immediately a thick oily black smoke started curling up. “Put yours and Winky’s hand in the smoke,” reminded Harry. “Now!” Dillon obediently moved his and Winky’s hand over the smoke. “Don’t let go no matter what!” Laurel started to cough. Whatever was burning stank horribly and the smoke turned an eerie red colour with streaks of black.  
          “O.K., now, say the words!”  
_“SIS MEA ELF! ELF BI LIOM! ELF YN FY!”_  
          “Again!” Harry instructed. “With more force!”  
**_“SIS MEA ELF! ELF BI LIOM! ELF YN FY!”_** Dillon thundered.  
          “Once more!” he encouraged.  
**_“SIS MEA ELF! ELF BI LIOM! ELF YN FY!”_** Huge clouds of reddish smoke suddenly billowed out filling the room, blinding Laurel causing her to cough continuously.  
          “Hang on to Winky!” she heard Harry shout as she coughed…

**********

          The smoke finally thinned. When Laurel was again able to look, Winky still sat in the chair with her arm firmly held out over the brazier by Dillon. But over her shoulders covering her body was, Dillon’s pillowcase?  
          “You can let go now,” said Harry.  
          Dillon reached out his free hand and pried his fingers, one by one, off of Winky’s wrist.  
          Winky’s arm dropped limply. She lifted it and looked at the arm, which now poked through the top corner of the pillowcase where there hadn’t been any holes. Then she looked down at the pillowcase that somehow covered her body—Winky suddenly sprang up and stood on the chair “I is a _House Elf!_ ” she said joyfully and whirled around. When she stopped, she looked down happily at the pillowcase that had become some sort of a simple shift and repeated, “I is a _House Elf!_ I is a _House Elf!_ I is a _House Elf!_ ” over and over again. Winky bounced off the chair while twirling and danced some more.  
          Harry reached out onto the table, took the paper bearing the words and crumpled it. “I don’t think we’ll be needing this any more,” he said as he tossed the paper into the brazier. It burned with a reassuring, normal looking red-yellow flame. Then Harry stood up and slid his chair under the table. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a new sheet of paper, one folded in half. “Try saying this to Winky,” he suggested softly. He handed the paper to Dillon and stepped back to stand next to the whirling Winky.  
          Dillon unfolded the paper and looked down at the words. He smiled and said in a commanding voice, **“Winky!”** Winky stopped whirling and looked intently at Dillon. **“Fetch my daughter, Holly!”**  
          Winky immediately vanished with a loud sounding _crack_ and with her, vanished Harry Potter!


	13. Chapter 13

          _“Expecto Patronus!”_ croaked Holly. A small silvery light sputtered forth from the wand, fizzled and vanished.   Holly wasn’t surprised. Her voice was so raw she could scarce understand the words she said let alone expect them to draw forth a silvery patronus. Her wand arm was so tired she had difficulty holding it upright let alone wave it properly.  
          Holly lost count of the number of times she had sent her patronus up into the air. She had spent every waking minute since that image of Flint sending patronuses upwards stopping only momentarily to wet her scratchy throat and grab a few mouthfuls of porridge. Someone was out there looking for her patronus, maybe more than one someone, and she mustn’t let them down! Holly knew she would have to eventually rest, but she was so afraid that someone would pass by her location and not know she was there all because she had paused at the wrong time to take a break. But now, she felt just too tired to continue…  
_“I’ll just close my eyes for a bit,”_ Holly told herself as she leaned wearily against the wall. _“Then I’ll start up again…”_ The wall felt so solid and supportive against her back. Holly’s legs bent almost of their own accord and she slid down to floor. _“Just a little bit,”_ she assured herself as she tucked the wand in her lap and fell into a dreamless sleep…

**********

          Suddenly a heavy weight landed on Holly’s mouth and nose pushing her head into the wall! Her eyes flew open and she recognized the silhouette of Sir in front of her. “Holiday’s over!” Sir announced with grim satisfaction. He ignored Holly’s frantic efforts to free herself and instead concentrated on capturing Holly’s hand, which still held the wand.  
          “NO!” Holly tried to scream. But no words came out; they couldn’t, not with that hand over her mouth! _“NO! NO! NO!”_ Holly continued in her mind as Sir took hold of Holly’s wrist and smashed her hand into the wall again and again and again! Holly kept her fingers closed and tried to duck away from Sir, but the hand over her mouth pushed Holly’s head ever deeper into the wall so it acted as a vise keeping her in place. Holly kicked out with her feet, but Sir twisted out of reach while pinning her wrist up against the wall. Then Sir slid his hand up to Holly’s fingers, took hold of the end of the wand and pulled it from her bruised hand.  
          “And now I have my wand!” he told her triumphantly while pointing it at Holly. _“Petrificus Totalus!”_ he shouted. Holly instantly straightened like a board. Sir let go and Holly and fell heavily to the floor rolling face down. “Like it?” questioned Sir without sympathy and he turned Holly’s stiff body over. Sir’s cold eyes bore into Holly’s unblinking ones. He calmly stepped over Holly, straddled her body and knelt closer placing his knees on either side of her arms.  
          Sir wrapped his hand around the collar of Holly’s jumpsuit. Then he pointed his wand at Holly and said, _“Petrificus Reversus!”_ Holly felt her body go limp.  
          “Let me go!” she screamed exploding into action kicking and struggling heedless of the wand.  
          Sir tightened his knees keeping Holly’s arms pinned to her side. At the same time he twisted his wrist that gripped the collar taking up the excess fabric until Holly couldn’t breathe! He tightened the collar even more using it to lift Holly’s neck and shoulders off the floor. Holly’s kicks became a frantic struggle for her very life! Stars swam in front of her eyes as she gradually lost consciousness. Abruptly Sir loosened his hold on the collar and let Holly’s head and shoulder drop back to the floor. Air flooded back into Holly’s starved lungs. She sputtered and coughed.  
          “It is not your time to talk!” Sir told Holly coldly while she gasped for air. “Do you understand?” Dazed, Holly stared vacantly up at Sir. Sir twisted his wrist tightening his grip on the collar again; Holly struggled for air. Abruptly grip loosened and the air returned. “Do … you … understand?” Sir demanded while Holly again coughed and sputtered.  
          “Y-yes,” Holly stammered weakly barely able to make a sound.  
          Sir tightened his grip choking Holly again. Stars flooded Holly’s vision. The grip loosened and again Holly gasped for air. “Do … you … understand?” Sir repeated expectantly while Holly struggled to breathe.  
          “Y-yes, _Sir_.” Holly closed her eyes in defeat, exhausted and lay limply on the floor beneath Sir.  
          Sir untwisted his grip on the collar making it easier to breathe. “That’s better,” he told Holly. “Open your eyes,” he ordered and poked the wand deep into Holly’s throat. Holly reluctantly opened her eyes. “Very good,” approved Sir. He removed the wand from Holly’s throat but kept it pointed warningly at her. “Now, look at me!” Sir’s hand tightened the collar uncomfortably around Holly’s neck. “Look at _me!_ ” he insisted while slowly twisting it even tighter. Holly forced her eyes to focus on Sir’s face.  
          “That’s it,” Sir smiled as he again loosened his hold. There was nothing kind about the smile. “Now that I have your complete attention, there are a few things I need to make sure you understand… That trance of yours,” Sir began, “was very interesting indeed, _Missy-you-can-die-all-you-want_. But I suggest you not do it again. If you go back into that trance, _Missy,_ I will fetch one of your classmates, Fitzpatrick, perhaps, or some other student like Smith or Owens, and have that person care for you until you recover.  
          If you do not recover, well, I have ideas for that, too, but assuming you recover, we shall next use that person who cared for you as a guinea pig to expand your knowledge and vocabulary on various types, causes and intensity of pain. And when we finish _that_ project, I shall torture your classmate repeatedly in front of you until you beg _,_ Holly, _beg_ me to end his or her suffering with death!” Sir twisted his fist and tightened his grip on the collar of her jumpsuit so Holly could barely breathe. “At which time I shall happily comply … or not. Do you believe me?”  
          Holly stared into those cold pitiless eyes. “Y-yes, Sir,” she whispered in a trembling voice.  
          “And before you get any ideas about suicide, _Missy_ ,” continued Sir. “You should know what will happen should you actually somehow succeed in dying. I will be very angry, so angry that I shall seek out your brother _Vernon_ and bring him to this room. I shall torture him continuously until I tire of the sport and end his worthless life. Then I shall dump his mangled body on the front lawn at Smeltings... That should bring your parents out of the woodworks, don’t you think? Perhaps even your grandparents—Are they still alive?” Sir looked at Holly for confirmation. “They are,” he answered with obvious pleasure, “I can see it in your eyes. Well, I shall capture them, too, all of them. I shall torture and kill the rest of your family one by one until there is nothing left of the Wycliff name… Do you believe me?”  
          “Y-yes, Sir,” breathed Holly barely able to speak. How could he know about Vernon?  
          “Very good,” Sir nodded approvingly. He loosened his grip at Holly’s neck making it easier to breathe and leaned back a bit. “It is fortunate for you that I am not angry at your foolish efforts,” he said in a conversational voice. “As I said before, some things are best learned through experience.” Sir smiled down at Holly. “This is one of those things. What did you learn?” He paused expectantly. Holly could only stare at him in a dazed panic, unable to think, afraid of what would happen if she didn’t answer. Sir smiled benignly. “Perhaps I’ll answer for you, _this_ time.” His eyes hardened. “You can’t leave, Holly, _ever!_ Even if you get the wand, you still _can’t_ leave. It’s useless to try and a waste of effort,” Sir added confidently. “If you attempt such a stunt again, I won’t be as forgiving...”  
          Sir fingered the collar at Holly’s throat thoughtfully and then spoke again. “I am going away for a while to clean-up,” he told her. “I suggest you use the time to do the same. You stink, Holly. Self-cleaning clothes can go only so far. Take a shower, scrub yourself thoroughly and put on the other set of clothes. When I return I expect you to be presentable. Your hair should be clean and brushed; it’s grown, put it in a single braid in back, I think. Brush your teeth, trim your nails and do anything else necessary for good grooming, personal hygiene and appearance. Think of it as a brand new start of a brand new life. _Your_ life, Holly! Do you understand?”  
          “Y-yes, Sir,” Holly whispered.  
          “If these things are not done when I return,” Sir added, “then I shall _help_ you do them! Do you understand?”  
          “Y-yes, Sir.” Holly shivered at the thought.  
          “And food, too,” continued Sir instructionally. “You should eat a full bowl of porridge at a time to keep up your strength, not a measly bite here and there,” he scolded. “I shall insist on that from now on, too.   Do you understand?”  
          Holly gulped. “Y-yes, Sir,” she whispered.  
         “Good,” Sir nodded with satisfaction. “You’ve wasted enough time on the Patronus spell,” Sir told Holly, “and it’s time to get back to business. We have a lot to catch up on, you and me… And we shall begin … when I return…”   Sir waved his wand and vanished in a cloud of smoke.

 **********

          Holly lay on the floor exhausted and defeated. All was lost. There was no rescue coming. They would have come by now if they had seen her patronus and there would be no more patronuses to see. Perhaps it had all been her imagination in the first place—a fantasy dream of a desperate mind. There was no point in anything anymore. Holly couldn’t face existence in this place; she couldn’t ignore it with Pettigrew and she couldn’t even die. Sir mocked her from every direction telling her to start a new “life” while holding her previous one hostage for her every action. If only she could forget…  
          Holly’s eyes flew open.   Forget!!! _Obliviate!_ Sir hadn’t forbid her from turning the wand on _herself!_ If Holly could forget all her family and friends, truly forget, then Sir could no longer hold them hostage against her; she wouldn’t care! Then they would have no value for him.  
_“How much can I forget?”_ wondered Holly excitedly. Professor Lovegood always said “will” and “intent” was a good part of any spell and Holly had a _lot_ of will. If she could forget _everything,_ then her family and friends would be safe. Sir may have an Empath, but he would no longer have “Holly.” Sir would have to train the shell that remained from “scratch,” if he could. All those horrible things Sir wanted her to do and made her feel, they wouldn’t matter either, for it wouldn’t be “Holly” doing or feeling them!  
          Holly turned over and curled up on the floor. _“I’ll get the wand back!”_ she thought with new determination. _“I’ll get it back and use it on myself!”_ She closed her eyes and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

**********

          The sound of a loud _crack_ awoke Holly with a start! “What?” _Emotions?!!!_ Holly’s bleary eyes were barely able to take in the huge floppy ears and a tall silhouette behind when she felt a firm grasp on her bruised wrist. Before she could struggle or make sense of it all, Holly felt the familiar sensation of squeezing and pushing that meant she was Apparating!

**********

          Holly was certain she was still asleep and dreaming by the time her wrist was released and she had recovered from Apparating for none of it could be real. She suddenly found herself lying on a hardwood floor—cold and solid, not like the tepid spongy stuff of her prison. And the room, the lighting wavered and flickered showing light walls, not matching gray! But the most important part were the two emotions she suddenly sensed in front of her—the two people Holly wanted most desperately to see!  
          It couldn’t be real, none of it! Cautiously Holly looked up, afraid any motion or sound would cause her to wake and destroy the dream. Standing in front of her disbelieving eyes were her parents! It could only be a dream—a final farewell, perhaps, before she grabbed Sir’s wand and erased her own memories! Holly stared without speaking trying to memorize every wrinkle, every strand of hair, the very countenance of their faces as she had once done with a strawberry. It had been so long since she had been able to visualize them in any form and now…  
          “Holly?” said mum.  
          That voice! So sweet! It was like music in her ears! And the emotions! That exquisite mix of worry, relief and love all at once! Holly had no idea she could dream things so perfectly!  
          “Holly baby?” her father said softly in that oh, so familiar voice. He stepped forward and knelt next to her. “Are you O.K?” he asked as his fingers reached out to touch her. Holly flinched; Sir’s brutality still fresh in her mind. Dad immediately withdrew his hand; Holly sensed his instant hurt and confusion. “Oh, baby,” moaned dad. “What did he do to you?”  
          Could any dream contain such sadness and despair? Perhaps... Holly impulsively reached out and grabbed the hand. It was real! No dream! “Daddy?” whispered Holly in disbelief. “Is it really you?”  
          Dad’s hand gripped her hand firmly in return. He smiled and his eyes seemed to glisten. “Yeah, baby, it’s me!” he answered. He pulled Holly up off the floor. His other arm reached out and enfolded Holly in a tight hug.  
          “Me, too,” assured Mum kneeling down wrapping her arms around Holly and dad.  
          Holly broke down and started to cry. “I thought I’d never see you again!” she said between her tears.  
          “Me, neither,” replied Dad, “Me neither.” And suddenly they were all crying together.


	14. Chapter 14

          Harry Potter let go of Winky as soon as she stopped Apparating. Wizard Pilkington had told Harry that he was fairly certain Winky could not take people _to_ Holly, only “fetch” her. Nor would Winky be able to return to that location once she had “fetched” Holly… Harry asked Kreacher what he knew about the spell. Kreacher looked at Harry disdainfully and said he knew little about the spell; children in the Black family had never needed to be “fetched.” But Harry knew it was possible to hitch-hike without consent. Yaxley had done that once and in doing so gained access to the Black mansion on Grimmauld Place. Harry desperately wanted access to Holly’s prison. He wanted to make sure it would never again hold her captive without a way for _him_ to get in!  
          One look at Holly convinced Harry he had made the right decision proposing the house elf spell, as disgusting as it was. Hermione, ever a liberator of house elves, was certain that Holly was “fine” as long as she had a wand so they could take more time to hunt for the kidnapper… But then the patronus spell quit appearing around 10:00am. Ron thought the reason Holly had quit sending the patronus was because she was tired and had gone to sleep. After at least eight hours of casting the patronus spell non-stop, Ron was probably right but Harry had gone ahead with preparations for the “Fetch” spell anyway. He was glad he had. None of them could have anticipated the forlorn figure Harry had seen lying on the floor. No child that was “fine” would lay on the floor next to a perfectly decent looking cot and Holly clearly had no wand.  
          Harry drew his wand and looked about cautiously. If Holly didn’t have the wand, where was it? Harry stepped quietly from the darkened room to the lit side. It was empty. He noted the absence of doors and windows, the gray colouring of the walls, floor, furnishings, spoon and bowl containing gray liquid. Harry returned to the other side and explored the water closet with its tiny mirror and gray accessories. Then Harry raised his wand and Apparated outside.  
          It was nearing dusk. The field looked as empty as it had in the morning when Harry last visited. “Dean?” he called out cautiously.  
          “This way!” came Dean’s prompt reply. Harry followed the sound. He knew the aurors were hiding in hopes of spotting the kidnapper on his way in or out of the unplottable house. Harry doubted they would succeed. Voldemort’s gang had never been able to catch _him_ that way.  
          Suddenly a hand appeared out of nowhere, grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him sharply sideways. Harry found himself in kind of a wizard blind. Dean and two aurors were plainly visible but hadn’t been only moments earlier. There were chairs, a bag of snacks and a case of Sorbi, clear indication they were settling in for a long wait… Harry had seen a lot of Sorbitium or Sorbi, as many called it, around lately. Several cases of it were donated at Holly’s “funeral,” a gesture Harry was sure many had appreciated. But Harry could only look at the bottles and think of that awful moment when he had felt the ground shake and seen that horrible cloud of smoke billow up…  
          “Anything?” asked Harry in a low voice. They’d been watching the area since the patronuses had appeared. Sometime between then and now, Holly had lost the wand and she had been alone…  
          “Nothing yet,” replied Dean in an equally low voice.  
          “She’s out!” Harry told Dean bluntly.  
          Dean’s eyes lit up in relief. “Out?” he questioned seeking confirmation. Harry nodded. “How?”  
          “Uh, later,” replied Harry evasively. Wizard Pilkington had told Harry there were no specific laws concerning Muggles acquiring house elves, (probably because they didn’t think it was necessary or possible) but Harry doubted adding a Muggle to their ranks, so to speak, as master of a house elf would be very popular idea in the wizard community. “I got in!” Harry added changing the subject.  
          “In? In there?” Dean questioned in disbelief while nodding towards the vacant field where the patronus had once appeared.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Harry. “It’s empty,” he added before Dean could respond. “I can take you there,” he offered. As far as Harry was concerned, the more people who came in the better—more secret keepers! “I don’t think the kidnapper knows she free yet…” Harry paused. “It’s possible he’ll return… If you and the aurors wait inside you might be able to catch him when he returns…”  
          Dean nodded. “Good idea… Think you can take us all?” he asked indicating himself and the two aurors.  
          “Yeah,” answered Harry with determination. “Just hang on tight,” he added as he raised his wand.  
          Moments later the four were standing inside the tiny room with the cot.  
          “Where’s Holly?” asked Dean as they explored the two rooms.  
          “Safe,” replied Harry vaguely. And she was. Ron and Hermione were watching the area until the Wycliffs left. He hoped they didn’t leave until he got back, but if they did, he knew where to find them.  
          “How is she?” questioned one of the aurors. They had, of course, both been fully briefed on the situation and its serious nature.  
          “O.K., I think,” answered Harry. “I’ll be bringing her to St. Mungo’s later for a full check-up…”  
          “Go to her,” ordered Dean. “We can handle things here,” he assured Harry. The other two aurors nodded in agreement. “Holly needs you more than we do,” Dean told Harry. “I’ll catch up with you at St. Mungo’s and let you know what happened. I can get Holly’s story at the same time…” Harry studied the three determined faces, wands extended, ready for use and nodded. “At St. Mungo’s,” he agreed. Harry raised his own wand and Apparated.

**********                                                                         

          Harry Potter arrived in a bedroom of the house. No need to distress the Wycliffs more than they already were. He opened the bedroom door and stepped quietly into the front room. Holly and her parents were in a tight embrace. They looked up at his entrance.  
          “Cousin Harry!” squeaked Holly excitedly as she broke away from her parents. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she said as she hugged him tightly. “You rescued me! I can never thank you enough!”  
          “It wasn’t me who did it,” replied Harry smiling warmly while hugging her back. Holly was thin and pale, but appeared otherwise fine.  
          “Huh?” Holly drew back and looked at Harry questionably.  
          “It was Winky who rescued you.”  
          “Who?”  
          “Winky.” Harry nodded to the house elf who stood quietly in the corner. He guessed she had stood there unnoticed the whole time after Holly’s arrival.  
          “Winky?” Holly questioned. She looked from Harry to Winky and then back to Harry with wide eyes.  
          “Winky,” began Harry formally, “this is Holly Wycliff. Holly, this is Winky, your new house elf.” Holly’s eyes seemed to get even wider.  
_“House elf?”_ she mouthed silently while looking at Harry.  
          Harry nodded. “It was the only way to get you back,” he added explaining.  
          Holly turned back to Winky. “Um, nice to meet you,” she said politely. Winky gave a short curtsey. “And, um, thank you so much for rescuing me!” Winky seemed to blush with the praise.  
          “Why don’t you ask Winky if she would go to Hogwarts and help the house elves there until we get things sorted out,” suggested Harry gently. Holly looked questionably at Harry. He nodded encouragingly. “Please,” he added sincerely.  
          Then Holly looked at Winky and took a deep breath. “Winky,” Winky looked at Holly with her big brown eyes. “Would you go to Hogwarts and help the house elves for a while?” Instead of vanishing immediately, Winky swung her head and looked at Dudley expectantly.  
          Dudley shifted uncomfortably knowing he was expected to say something. “Uh, yeah, whatever she said,” he finally mumbled.  
          Winky nodded and vanished with a loud _crack._ Harry breathed an inward sigh of relief. Out of sight, out of mind. Once the euphoria of Holly’s return had left they would still have Winky, a visible reminder of Harry and his friends. Dudley would be grateful for a while but once he learned how to “free” Winky, he would do it in a heartbeat. That wasn’t fair to Winky. Now came the hard part.  
          “I’ve got to take Holly to the doctor to be checked out now…” Harry told the parents.  
          “Holly’s fine!” argued Dudley possessively.  
          “So it would seem,” agreed Harry out loud, though he had seen how thin and pale Holly was and had already noted the bruised hand and strangle marks at her neck that would suggest otherwise. “But we still have to make sure there’s no, uh, “funny stuff” going on that we can’t see…” Harry was rewarded by an immediate familiar cringe by Dudley at the mere suggestion of magic. “So the doctor’s going to want Holly to stay over at least one night for observation, maybe more to make sure…”  
          “The place in London?” questioned Laurel swiftly.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Harry reluctantly. “But I, uh, don’t want you coming along…”  
          “What?” questioned Dudley, his face darkening.  
          “Holly’s also got to tell us her story,” explained Harry quickly before Dudley could explode. “What happened to her is _our_ business, not yours, and I think it would be best if you weren’t there when we talk about it…”  
          “He’s right,” agreed Holly swiftly. “I’ve got to tell them what happened, and it would be easier if,” Holly gulped and tried again, “if you and mum weren’t there to, to listen…”  
          Harry could hear the tears in her voice. _“I’m so sorry,”_ grieved Harry silently. _“How could we have let this happen?”_  
          “Oh, baby,” began Dudley uncertainly. “Did he—” Dudley broke off unable to put his question and fears properly into words…  
          “No, daddy, I’m fine,” replied Holly swiftly, “he didn’t—do anything _like that_ ,” she assured him, “but a lot of _magic_ happened and you don’t need to hear about it… Please,” Holly added, “it’ll just be for a day, right?” she turned to Harry questioningly.  
          “Unless Dr. Winonan says differently,” assured Harry looking down at her. “And I’ll let your parents know if that happens.”  
          “You’ll stay with her?” asked Dudley worriedly.  
          “The whole time,” promised Harry solemnly. The kidnapper was still out there… Holly wouldn’t be safe until he was caught.  
          “Very well,” agreed Dudley reluctantly.  
          “Then we’d best be going,” Harry decided aloud. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return…”  
          Holly moved to her parents swiftly giving each a warm hug and kiss. “I love you,” she whispered in their ears, “forever and ever!”  
          Then she returned to Harry’s side. “I’m ready,” she told him.  
          “I’ll have her back to your house soon,” Harry assured Dudley and Laurel. “This way,” he told Holly indicating the back room. “We’ll go out the back way,” he added to Dudley and Laurel, explaining, and Harry moved to the bedroom door. He opened the door for Holly and watched while she walked through.  
          “Uh, Harry?” said Dudley as Harry had begun to follow. Harry stopped and looked back at Dudley. “Thanks.”  
          Harry nodded. Then he closed the door behind him.

**********

          Harry Potter drew out his wand as he walked up next to Holly. “Are you ready?” he asked while holding out his free hand. She gulped and nodded lifting her bruised hand and placing it on his wrist gripping it firmly. Harry raised his wand.  
          “I couldn’t Apparate!” Holly whispered suddenly.  
          “What?”  
          “I had the wand and I couldn’t Apparate!” she repeated and dissolved into tears sobbing into Harry’s arm. “And he was laughing at me because he knew I couldn’t leave no matter what!” Holly added between her sobs!  
          “It’s O.K.,” whispered Harry soothingly while he rubbed Holly’s back. “He was wrong,” reminded Harry. “You got out anyway!”  
          “No he wasn’t!” continued Holly heedless of Harry’s words. “Not about that! I tried so hard but I just didn’t know what to do! And if you hadn’t—” Holly broke off. “If Winky hadn’t come when she had—” she tried again. “Oh, thank you _so_ much for getting me out of there!” Holly concluded and she cried some more…  
          “It’s over now,” whispered Harry reassuringly knowing it wasn’t over, not yet, not until they got the bastard!  
          “I’m sorry,” Holly suddenly sniffed while lifting her head. “I shouldn’t be crying on your shoulder like this. I’m out now, I should be happy.” She sniffed again and used her gray jumpsuit sleeve to wipe her nose and face.  
          “That’s O.K.,” Harry told Holly. “You’ve had a tough time. You’re entitled to a few tears. But you don’t give yourself enough credit,” he scolded gently. “You got the wand, which I am sure was not an easy thing to do, and that was a very fine patronus spell you cast…”  
          “It was?” whispered Holly hopefully.  
          “It was!” replied Harry confidently. “I only managed the spell properly once during my third year,” he told Holly. “And you did it—well, so many times we all lost count!” Mentally, Harry made a note to ask Luna if it were possible to get private Apparating lessons for Holly even though she was younger than the recommended age… Provided Holly returned to Hogwarts…  
          “I had a lot of practice,” replied Holly shyly. “Let’s get out of here!” she said decisively and again placed her hand on Harry’s wrist. He nodded, waived his wand and Apparated the two out of the house.

**********

          The two arrived on the street outside the Purge and Dowse Ltd. Building. Holly immediately looked up. “The sky!” she exclaimed. “It’s so big! And wonderful!” Harry looked up too. It looked like an ordinary evening beginning to turn gray and dusky. “I never thought I’d see you again!” she said to the sky while twirling around with her arms extended. “And the colors!” Holly added excitedly. “It’s a sunrise!” she exclaimed happily. “Or sunset!” Holly admitted honestly. “It doesn’t matter. The colours are beautiful! That pink, with just a tinge of blue... Have you ever seen anything so perfect?”  
          “No,” answered Harry softly. He’d never thought about such things, at least not about a sky outside St. Mungo’s. He cleared his throat. “I was there,” he told Holly softly. “In that place where you were. Did you know that?”  
          Holly reached out and grabbed Harry’s wrist tightly while still watching the sunset. “Yes,” she answered in a low voice. “I sensed your emotions, but I didn’t believe what I sensed. I thought it was a dream.”  
          “Was that where you were the whole time?”  
          Holly looked away from the sky and at him, “Yes.” Her green eyes regarded Harry solemnly.  
          “And was it like that always?”  
          “Yes,” Holly whispered and her lower lip began to tremble. “I didn’t even know what day it was until mum told me.”  
          Suddenly Harry was very glad Lord Voldemort had only tried to _kill_ not _turn_ him. “Turning” seemed infinitely worse. He pulled Holly close giving her a reassuring hug. “It’s over now!” he told Holly. “And you’ll be able to watch as many sunrises and sunsets as you want. That’s a sunset, by the way,” he added informatively.  
          “Is it?” questioned Holly turning again to look at the deepening colours.  
          “M-hum,” replied Harry.  
          “It’s a beautiful sunset,” she repeated solemnly. “And then I’ll be able to see the stars!” Holly added eagerly.  
          “Not tonight,” replied Harry regretfully. “You’ve a healer to see. But tomorrow…”  
          “Yes,” agreed Holly and her face brightened. “Tomorrow! I’ve tomorrows again! Food!” she added suddenly. “There was that fish and chips place a few blocks down, remember?”  
          “Yes,” replied Harry remembering he had eaten a meal with Holly and Mr. DeWolfe there last year…  
          “Do you suppose we could go there for a bite of food before we go to St. Mungo’s? _Real_ food?” Holly pleaded. “All I’ve had is that horrible porridge for the longest time…”  
          Harry remembered the gray stuff he had seen in the bowl and shuttered. “I think we might be able to make a quick stop there before we go inside…” he said unable to tell her “no.”  
          “Oh, thank you!” Holly exclaimed and gave Harry a huge bear hug before taking off down the sidewalk.  
          “Hey! Slow down!” called Harry as he hurried to catch up.  
          Holly wheeled around. She raced back to Harry, grabbed his hand and started again down the sidewalk. “Hurry!” she told him excitedly. “There’ll be fish, and chips, and bread and salad and soda and everything!”  
          Suddenly Holly stopped pulling Harry to a halt with her. “Do you feel it?” she questioned breathlessly. “A breeze! There’s a breeze! A real breeze! I can feel it! And it’s cold! Well, not really cold,” she amended, “but colder than the rest of the air. It’s wonderful!” Holly chattered happily and started back down the sidewalk dragging Harry along. “There’s so many things I missed while I was in there and so many more things I missed but I never even realized I missed until now!” she told Harry while they walked.  
          “There it is!” Holly exclaimed excitedly when the Fish and Chips spot came into sight. She let go of Harry’s hand and ran ahead reaching the door before him vanishing inside.  
          Harry swiftly reached the entry to join her—but when he got to the door, he stopped. Holly stood in the entryway. The exuberant teen enjoying her freedom had transformed into a forlorn waif clutching her arms tightly looking lost and pitiful. “I, uh, think we should go to the hospital,” she whispered soberly.  
          “What? What happened?” questioned Harry worriedly looking about the interior of the cafe that was filled with people as he backed away to permit Holly to leave.  
          She shook her head and started walking slowly back towards the hospital. Harry joined her. They walked for several steps in silence before Holly whispered, “I can’t block!”  
          “What? Of course you can,” argued Harry.   
          “No,” Holly told him while shaking her head. “I haven’t been able to ever since, since—I thought I’d be able to once I left that place, but I still can’t, not any more.”  
          “It’ll come back to you,” Harry said reassuring.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Holly glumly but she didn’t sound convinced.  
          Harry put his arm on Holly’s shoulders and pulled her in close as they walked. It was the most he could do for her now.  
          They walked several meters in silence before Harry decided to speak changing the subject. “When I was your age I used to have dreams,” he began carefully. This was more than a casual story. “All sorts of weird dreams,” he added explaining.  
          “You did?” asked Holly with interest. “I—”  
          “I didn’t know what they meant,” Harry continued not letting Holly finish speaking, “but I was certain they were important.  
          “Really? Because I—”  
          “The dreams got stronger and more frequent as I got older,” continued Harry as if Holly hadn’t spoken. “I dreamed of places I’d never been to, people I’d never met, things happening far away…”  
          “Things?” questioned Holly softly.  
          “Yeah,” replied Harry. “In one dream I saw Mr. Weasley getting bitten by a snake. I was certain it was more than an ordinary dream. And it was! He _had_ been bitten and nearly died. We were able to get help to him in time—I saved his life!”  
          “Oh. That was good.”  
          “Yes,” agreed Harry. “I didn’t try to stop the dreams after that,” continued Harry. “You see, I realized I was seeing stuff somehow connected to Lord Voldemort and was certain the dreams could help me defeat him. And then one time—” Harry broke off. This was hard for him to relate. “I saw my godfather getting tortured by Lord Voldemort! It was horrible!”  
          “Sirius Black?” questioned Holly with familiarity. She’d actually met him and knew of whom he spoke.  
          “Yes! And I knew exactly where Voldemort was holding him! The dreams had told me that too! So I raced off with my friends to rescue him.”  
          “To the Department of Mysteries?” whispered Holly.  
          “Yeah,” admitted Harry surprised Holly knew. “Turns out Lord Voldemort had been sending me the dreams—certain I would do exactly as I did. We went to the Department of Mysteries and they were waiting for us. Sirius was never in any danger and I got him killed because he came to rescue me!” Harry concluded bitterly.  
          Holly squeezed his hand. “You couldn’t know,” she told him reassuringly.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Harry, “but it doesn’t change a thing. Sirius is still dead.” They walked a few more steps and Harry said, “I always knew that what Voldemort had done was wrong, tricking me like that, but, well, he was a Dark Lord and I can understand him doing things like that to get what he wanted. What I didn’t know until recently was that it is actually _illegal_ to send messages to someone else through dreams.”  
          “Really?”  
          “Yeah. Honest wizards have no need for such practices; they can speak face to face or send messages by owl,” Harry explained. “Dark wizard use dreams to persuade others to behave in a certain way. The recipient may think the message is just a product of normal dreaming and not realize he or she is being manipulated,” he told her. “A person found guilty of sending such messages, no matter what the justification, would be in serious trouble and could be sent to Azkaban.” They continued walking in silence while Harry let Holly think it over. “It’s something I learned recently,” Harry told Holly calmly hoping she would read into his words more than what he had said. “I thought you might find it interesting…”  
          “I do,” she whispered thoughtfully. They reached the female dummy in the window of the Purge and Dowse Ltd. Building and stopped. Holly looked up at the dummy. “There’ll be wizards on the other side, won’t there?” she asked.  
          “Yes.”  
          “I, uh, I don’t think I can f-face their emotions…” she said apprehensively.  
          “Mmmm,” said Harry thoughtfully, “perhaps I can help…” He reached under his shirt and pulled out his invisible cloak. He knew that besides making Holly invisible, it would shield her from outside emotions.  
          Holly smiled in recognition. “Yes,” she agreed reaching up and fingering the cloak’s slippery surface. “That will help.”  
          “But you must promise to stick by my side the whole time or I’ll have to answer to your father,” Harry told Holly sternly as he draped the cloak over her head. Using the cloak on Holly was something he had wanted to do anyway and now he wouldn’t have to explain...  
          “I promise,” came Holly’s voice. Her hand stuck out of the cloak and took hold of Harry’s.  
          “I’ve a patient,” Harry told the female dummy in the window while he held onto Holly’s hand. The dummy head nodded and beckoned with her jointed finger. “Here goes,” Harry told Holly and he stepped through the window pulling his cousin along.

**********

          The bright light inside the hospital nearly blinded Holly Wycliff. She held up her free hand shielding her eyes as they moved forward. “Back again, Mrs. Evans?” the receptionist told someone in front of her. Recognizing the name, Holly squinted and looked. She saw a familiar woman at the counter holding firmly onto the hand of a toddler, it had to be Timmy! It seemed ages since Holly had last seen Timmy. Mrs. Evan’s hair looked to be all colors of the rainbow and shot out stiffly in all directions! The hair seemed to be growing longer as they stood. “You need to keep better hold of your wand,” the receptionist scolded. “Timmy is quite creative. Fourth floor,” she added, “you know the way…”   Mrs. Timmons nodded and walked off.  
          Cousin Harry walked to the counter. Holly followed taking care to not touch the people seated on either side in the waiting area along the way. “I’d like to see Healer Winonan,” began Cousin Harry.  
          “What’s the problem?” the receptionist asked.  
          “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need to see Healer Winonan,” replied Cousin Harry calmly and he gave Holly’s hand a quick squeeze.  
          The receptionist rolled her eyes. “Down the hall and the first door to the right,” she told Cousin Harry. “I’ll let him know you’re there.”  
          “Thank you,” said Cousin Harry meekly. He moved slowly down the hall while keeping hold on Holly.  
          Cousin Harry opened the first door on the right and stood aside to let Holly enter ahead of him. Then Cousin Harry came in and closed the door behind him. Holly let go of the hand and sat down on the cot. She was about to take off the cloak knowing the outside emotions wouldn’t bother her in this room when she felt Cousin Harry’s hand on her knee. Holly looked up at him and saw Cousin Harry shake his head slightly.  
          “Ah, Fiona,” began Cousin Harry turning and facing the portrait of the matronly lady with dark brown hair who stood amidst a room with a table full of vials and potions which hung on the wall. “How good are you at keeping secrets?”  
          Fiona drew herself up to her full height. “I am a _healer!_ ” she told Cousin Harry primly. “Of course I can keep secrets!”  
          “That’s good,” replied Cousin Harry, “because I’ve got one that you absolutely _must_ keep, at least for a while.”  
         “What?” asked Fiona sarcastically. “That you need some sleep? Any Muggle off the street looking at you could tell that!”  
          “Not that,” said Cousin Harry, “something a bit more important...”  
          “Well, I’ll have you know that I’ve never talked about anything that goes on in this office _ever!”_ retorted Fiona stiffly. “How _dare_ you question my integrity!”  
          “That’s what I wanted to hear,” replied Harry and he nodded to Holly.  
          Holly promptly pulled off the invisibility cloak and handed it to Cousin Harry.  
          Fiona stared at Holly with an opened mouth. “That’s, that’s Holly!” she exclaimed in surprise.  
          “That’s right!” agreed Cousin Harry as he tucked his cloak under his shirt.  
          “She’s—she’s not a ghost!”  
          “No she isn’t agreed,” Cousin Harry with a smile. “But no one knows yet and you mustn’t tell anyone for a while.  
          “But, but,” sputtered Fiona.  
          “I’ll explain everything once Healer Winonan gets here,” said Cousin Harry.  
          At that moment the door opened. “Now, then, what’s the problem?” Healer Winonan asked as he walked in. He looked up and froze the moment he saw Holly sitting on the cot.  
          “Nothing with me,” replied Cousin Harry as he moved swiftly behind the healer and closed the door, “but Holly, here, needs a complete physical…”  
          “Alive?” stated the healer in disbelief. “How?”  
          “A very clever kidnapping,” replied Cousin Harry. “The thing is, I don’t think the kidnapper knows she’s free yet so I don’t want word of her escape getting out!”  
          “Uh, right!” said Healer Winonan after he managed to close his mouth. “Let’s have a look at you!” he told Holly in a professional sounding voice. He turned as if to get out his instruments and paused. Then Healer Winonan wheeled about and gave Holly a huge bear hug! “It’s so good to see you again!” he told Holly enthusiastically.  
          “It’s good to see you too,” Holly whispered shyly.  
          “So, where have you been all this time?” questioned Healer Winonan conversationally as he released Holly and peered into her eyes.  
          “Uh, let’s wait with her story until Dean can get here,” said Cousin Harry. “That way she will only have to tell it once…”  
          “You asked me to give her a physical,” retorted Healer Winonan. “Haven’t you noticed? The poor thing’s squinting. It’s clear the light bothers her.” He drew out his wand and pointed it at the ceiling. Immediately the lights in the room seemed to dim. “Is that better?” he asked Holly.  
          “Much,” she whispered.  
          “It would help with my examination if I knew more about the conditions where Miss Wycliff was kept and her diet,” Healer Winonan told Cousin Harry.  
          “Porridge!” replied Holly promptly. “Icky gray stuff!”  
          Healer Winonan raised an eyebrow. “The same colour as your jumpsuit?”  
          “Yeah,” agreed Holly. “Is there something else here I can change into?” she asked suddenly. “I don’t want to wear anything gray ever again!”  
          “I think we can manage that,” replied Healer Winonan accommodatingly. “Though I’m not sure it’s hospital clothes you are thinking of…”  
          “Anything!” replied Holly firmly, “as long as it isn’t gray and not a jumpsuit!”  
          “I’ll send word to Ginny to get you something,” put in Cousin Harry. He pulled out a pen and a tiny notebook and started writing.  
          “And bubble bath!” Holly added suddenly. “Weasley Rainbow Bubble Bath, if possible but white bubbles will do too as long as it’s smelly with lots of flowers and perfume! I need to get cleaned up and I won’t take a shower, ever!” Holly shivered remembering that getting “clean” was Sir’s last instruction to her. She was getting her hair cut, too—no braids ever either!  
          “I’ll tell Ginny,” murmured Cousin Harry and wrote some more in his notebook.  
          The exam continued. Healer Winonan gave Holly some potion, which made her scratchy throat feel much better and then handed her a glass of water to drink. Holly hadn’t thought she was thirsty, but the water tasted so cool and sweet that she easily finished the contents of the glass and drank two more as well. The Healer frowned at her bruised hand and assured her he had some ointment for the marks at her neck but decided to wait on healing them until after Wizard Thomas, whomever he was, had a chance to see them.  
          Then he left briefly returning with a big meal for Holly after she informed him she couldn’t remember the last time she ate… What arrived was several slices of toast, jam and a huge bowl of oatmeal?!!! True, there were nuts and raisins to add but the Healer cheerfully informed Holly that she had been eating semi-liquids for a while and it was best to ease back into solid foods… Admittedly, the oatmeal was infinitely better than the porridge but still...  
          When Holly finished her food, the Healer said her basic exam was over and it was time to check her empathic abilities…  
          “No!” said Holly sharply. Both Healer Winonan and Cousin Harry looked at her in surprise. “I don’t want to be tested,” Holly added firmly. She sensed a sharp spike of interest and concern in both Cousin Harry and the Healer but Holly didn’t care. She was through with emotional tests. In fact, “Is there some potion I can take to get rid of this ability?” Holly asked suddenly. Then people like Sir would leave her alone.  
          Healer Winonan took a deep breath exhaling before he answered. “There’s the PAINLESS,” he reminded her. “But that’s temporary. I don’t know of anything that does it permanently. I suspect the side effects of testing to find something more permanent may be worse and more damaging than the actual ability…”   Holly doubted that but she had her basic answer. She was stuck for now.  
          A knock on the door prevented further discussion. Cousin Harry hurried to answer it. Holly sensed instant recognition and relief from Cousin Harry as he backed up to let the person in. Holly was less interested in the tall man wearing wizard robes who entered as she was in the person who came after him.  
          “Ravindra!” she squealed in delight jumping off the cot and hurrying to greet her.  
          “Hey, little sister,” said Ravindra hugging Holly tightly. Though older than Holly, Ravindra had dueled against Holly in her Defense against the Dark Arts class while at Hogwarts and had saved Holly in the Tom Riddle world. “I thought I told you to keep away from Dark Wizards!”  
          “I tried,” Holly whispered between sobs, “but I couldn’t stop it! Sorry I screwed up so!”  
          “Screwed up?” exclaimed Ravindra firmly. “That’s not the way I heard it! Any encounter with a Dark Wizard where you walk away alive is an event to be celebrated! Well done!” She hugged Holly again filling Holly with her emotions of confidence, love and pride.  
          “Uh, Holly,” said Cousin Harry interrupting their embrace. “This is Wizard Dean Thomas, head of Magical Law Enforcement. He’s here to find out what happened.”  
          “Pleased to meet you, Miss Wycliff,” said Wizard Thomas as he offered her his hand. He was an older looking man and as tall as Cousin Harry.  
          “Pleased to meet you, too,” replied Holly cautiously as she gave him her hand in return. Wizard Thomas’ emotions seemed pleasant enough though strong.  
          “I believe you already know Miss Ravindra Vasari,” added Wizard Thomas. She’s one of our aurors,” he told Holly. Ravindra smiled proudly as he spoke. “I brought her along to take notes,” he added explaining. “That way you won’t have to repeat yourself later.”  
          “That was very thoughtful of you,” replied Holly gravely. “Thank you.”  
          “Why don’t we get you comfy, first,” suggested Ravindra. She set down the small black nap-sack with the letters MLE embroidered across the front in gold that she was carrying. Opening it, Ravindra pulled out four huge puffy blue and gold pillows and propped them against the wall behind the cot. “Have a seat,” she added drawing Holly back to the cot. Holly sat. She drew her legs up and leaned back on the pillows. Velvet! Such a nice texture. “Better?” questioned Ravindra. Holly nodded. “Good.”  
          Ravindra sat cross-legged on the cot next to Holly and pulled out a blue spiral notebook and a feathery black quill. She opened the notebook and set it down on her lap. Then she placed the tip of the quill on the page and let go. The quill fluttered upright, expectantly. “Official Interview with Holly Ann Wycliff,” began Ravindra. The quill started moving rapidly across the page. Holly looked over Ravindra’s shoulder while she spoke and saw the heading “Official Interview with Holly Ann Wycliff,” written neatly on the page. Ravindra continued talking, “Dictation taken by auror Ravindra Avani Vasari,” Ravindra grinned at Holly and her brown eyes twinkled merrily when she said the name “auror” and then stated the date and location. The quill rapidly wrote her words. Ravindra next listed the full names of everyone present, including Fiona, and the quill wrote that down as well.  
          Then Ravindra plucked the quill out of the air and held it in place. “I’m ready!” she announced. “Is everyone else?” she questioned while looking around the room. The room had expanded to easily accommodate the larger group. The others had taken the opportunity to find chairs and sit as well. All three nodded at Ravindra’s question.  
          “Well, I’m not!” grumbled Fiona. “Somebody move over so I can see too!” Cousin Harry obligingly moved his chair over a bit so Fiona could see. “That’s better,” Fiona told the group.  
          “Are you ready?” Ravindra asked Holly.  
          Holly gulped and nodded. “I guess so,” she replied hesitantly.  
          Ravindra reached out and squeezed Holly’s hand. “It’ll be O.K.,” she assured Holly. “She’s ready,” Ravindra told Wizard Thomas. And she put the quill back on the page. It hovered motionless, waiting for someone to speak.  
          “Very well,” said Wizard Thomas. The quill started moving. “Now, to start off, Miss Wycliff, I have something to show you.” Ravindra’s quill continued to move rapidly taking down his every word. Wizard Thomas drew a scroll out of his jacket and unrolled it. “Is this the person who assaulted and kidnapped you?” he asked handing the scroll to Holly. Holly took the paper with trembling fingers. Sir’s blue eyes stared coldly out at her. “Yes!” she whispered fearfully and her whole body began to shake uncontrollably, “that’s him! How?” she asked looking at the wizard.  
          “He came back, Harry,” said Wizard Thomas as he handed the picture to Cousin Harry and Healer Winonan to look at. Fiona peered curiously over their shoulder looking at the hated face. “Just like you thought he would,” continued Wizard Thomas. “We had him, too! And then we didn’t. I’ll get more into that later,” he added.  
          “I had hoped to bring you better news, Miss Wycliff,” the wizard apologized, “but I’m afraid he escaped. That’s why I need to know everything you know about this guy; what he said, did, gestures, _everything!_ I realize that will be extremely difficult for you, Miss Wycliff, but none of us have ever seen this person before and what you tell us could help us identify, locate and apprehend this guy. Do you understand?” He reached out, retrieved the scroll, rolled it back up and handed it to Ravindra. Ravindra rolled up the scroll and put it in her bag.  
          “Y-yes, s—” Holly broke off. “Yes,” she replied with determination.  
          “Excellent,” replied Wizard Thomas. “Why don’t we start at the beginning?   Who is he?”  
          Holly took a deep breath. “He said his name was “Sir,” she began softly.


	15. Chapter 15

          The group listened avidly to Holly’s tale interrupting only occasionally to get a more specific description or two…  
          Ravindra held Holly tight when she described the desperation that drove her to call on Pettigrew… Wizard Thomas frowned. Holly could tell he hadn’t known about her flashbacks. Both Ravindra and Cousin Harry oozed emotional pride when Holly described her successful efforts at creating a patronus. “And then I decided to send it upwards,” Holly concluded. She paused to catch her breath.  
          Wizard Thomas stirred restlessly in his seat. “What caused you to send it upwards?” His voice was casual but his emotions were tense and apprehensive…  
          This, then, was the reason why Cousin Harry had told her that story about the Ministry of Magic. Holly was fairly certain Cousin Harry had done something less-than-legal in getting Flint to suggest sending the patronus into the air… but if he hadn’t... Holly would never say anything that might get him into trouble. “Um, it seemed like the thing to do,” Holly answered vaguely. “I had pretty much decided that sending it to my parents wasn’t doing any good and I needed to try something else…”  
          Wizard Thomas turned to Cousin Harry. “I hate to ask this, Harry, but how did you know to look for Holly’s patronus in the air this morning?”  
          “I didn’t know,” replied Cousin Harry calmly. “I just hoped we’d see something. That’s all. We got very lucky.”  
          “You’ve got to admit that the timing is a pretty big coincidence,” persisted Wizard Thomas, “you searching the skies at the same time Miss Wycliff started sending the patronus up in the air… “  
          “It would be,” agreed Cousin Harry, “if Holly had started sending the patronus up right when I started flying the skies looking for it, but she doesn’t know when she started, nor do we. That pasture was in a remote area and who knows how long Holly was sending it upwards before it was spotted….  
          “Perhaps,” agreed Wizard Thomas reluctantly. “But I’ve still got to ask: did you use magic to send Miss Wycliff a mental message to change the direction of that patronus?”  
          “No, I did not,” replied Cousin Harry calmly while meeting Wizard Thomas’ gaze squarely. “I don’t know how to do that kind of thing.” Holly stared at him in surprise. He was telling the truth! Holly had been certain it was Cousin Harry who had gotten Wizard Flint to say those words… Perhaps it was all in her mind… “I’ll take some veritaserum on that, if you like,” Cousin Harry offered.  
          Wizard Thomas studied Cousin Harry closely for a long time before he said, “No, that isn’t necessary, Harry. Your word’s good with me. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t check…”  
          “Of course,” agreed Cousin Harry calmly and Holly felt a sensation of relief flood Cousin Harry’s body. She was certain now he _had_ done something somehow; Wizard Thomas just hadn’t asked the right question. “How did you loose the wand?” Cousin Harry asked Holly changing the subject.  
          “I fell asleep,” admitted Holly, “and the next thing I knew, Sir was on top of me grabbing the wand… that’s when I got this,” she added raising her bruised hand.  
          “And the marks at your neck?” questioned Healer Winonan.  
          “Yeah,” admitted Holly reluctantly. She looked down, ashamed she hadn’t managed to keep the wand, hadn’t fought harder somehow. But at the same time, just thinking of the experience, filled her with terror. “I don’t know what happened,” Holly added. “I’m certain I cast my freezing spell properly, but he was loose so I must have done something wrong…”  
          “It’s O.K.,” Ravindra said reassuringly and pulled Holly close again.  
          Wizard Thomas shifted in his seat again. “I don’t think anything was wrong with your spell, Miss Wycliff.” Holly looked up at him in surprise. “I think that, as with the _Imperius Curse_ , if you use the spell often enough, a person tends to develop a resistance to it. And it also explains how he was able to escape us.  
          We had him, Harry!” Wizard Thomas announced. “We stunned him, disarmed him and he kept on coming! So we hit him with _Petrificus Totalus!_ The guy flattened up totally and as I was going to secure him, that wand flew back into his hand! He pointed his wrist up towards the ceiling and the whole place started falling apart! We barely got out alive! I’m sorry, Miss Wycliff,” he added looking at Holly. “I didn’t actually see him Apparate, but I’m fairly certain Sir got away too.”  
          Holly nodded. Wizard Thomas had said as much before. “Sir’s not going to be happy,” she told them. “He made all sorts of threats against my friends and classmates if I even tried to get away aga—”  
          “Slow down, little sister,” murmured Ravindra. “Tell us exactly what he said.”  
          Holly gulped and began again. “He s-said, he said that…” and Holly recounted what Sir had told her word for word as best as she could remember. Doing so made her tremble violently and Ravindra had to hold her tight the whole time filling Holly with her emotions of warmth, and love giving Holly the courage to continue.  
          “…and then he said if I c-committed sui-—Vernon!” whispered Holly suddenly with wide eyes looking up at Cousin Harry.  
          “What?”  
          “Vernon!” repeated Holly. “He knew about Vernon and Smeltings!”  
          “He did?”  
          “Yes! He mentioned them both by name! He said he would—Vernon’s in danger!” Holly told Cousin Harry urgently. “You’ve got to protect him!”  
          “We will,” assured Cousin Harry. “Now, tell us what he said, exactly.”  
          “It’s O.K.,” assured Ravindra rocking Holly back and forth. “You can do it!” she encouraged.  
          And Holly repeated the horrible things Sir had said he would do to her family… “And then he s-said he was going away to clean up and wanted me to clean up too, to be ready for his return… That’s why he wasn’t there when—Oh, thank you, _thank you_ _again_ for rescuing me!” Holly slipped out of Ravindra’s grasp, off the cot and sort of fell onto Cousin Harry and hugged him tightly. “Now you’ve got to save Vernon, too!” she told him earnestly.  
          “I’ll take care of it,” said Cousin Harry reassuringly while hugging her tightly in return. “Just as soon as we finish here… We _are_ done, aren’t we,” he asked looking over at Wizard Thomas.  
          “I think so,” replied the wizard. Ravindra reached over and plucked the quill off the notebook page. Wizard Thomas stood and stretched. “I’m not going to ask how you managed to pull her _out_ and us _in_ an unplottable location, Harry, not now anyway,” he added, “I’m just glad Lord Voldemort never thought of it…”  
          “Me too,” agreed Cousin Harry dryly.  
          “Well,” said Wizard Thomas, “if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a bit of investigating to do and a Dark Wizard to catch.” He opened the door.  
          “Dean?” called out Cousin Harry. Wizard Thomas paused and looked at Cousin Harry. “Could you drop off a few notes for me?” He quickly scribbled something down in his notebook. “I promised Holly’s father I would stay with her the whole time she was here but I need to get some messages out.  
          “No problem,” replied Wizard Thomas easily. Cousin Harry tore off the page, folded it and wrote something on the top. This one is for Ginny, he told the wizard, “letting her know I’ll not be home tonight. And this one,” he said while rapidly scribbling on a second page, “is to Wizard Pilkington about Holly’s brother.”  
          “Good,” said Wizard Thomas approvingly, “I was wondering what we could do about that…”  
          He hadn’t been “wondering,” not really, but that didn’t matter to Holly. What mattered was that Cousin Harry _had_ meant it when he said he’d “take care of it” and was following through on that promise. Holly trusted Wizard Pilkington and she was certain Wizard Pilkington would check on Vernon and keep him safe.  
          Cousin Harry tore off the page and began folding it. “Ginny’s you can send by owl,” he told the wizard, “but I would appreciate it if you delivered the one to Wizard Pilkington in person in case he has any questions. He’ll be at his office.” He handed the both notes to Wizard Thomas who promptly tucked them into his pocket.  
          “You can count on me,” Wizard Thomas assured Cousin Harry.  
          “Thanks.”  
          “Any time. A pleasure meeting you, Miss Wycliff,” said Wizard Thomas giving a slight bow. “I just wish it had been under better circumstances.” He left the room closing the door behind him.  
          “That’s my cue to get busy!” Ravindra told Holly. “I’m still new,” she confided, “so I get all the tedious paperwork.” She flipped the notebook pages back to the beginning and handed it to Holly. “It’s word for word what was said here,” she told Holly, “but you should look it over for any mistakes.”  
          Holly stared with horror at the thick stack of pages filled with tiny script. Beneath the heading she could make out the first line:   “Wizard Thomas: “Very well. Now, to start off, Miss Wycliff, I have something to show you…” Holly had no desire to relive what she had just related. “Uh, I’ll trust you,” she told Ravindra handing the papers back.  
          Ravindra nodded understandingly. “Sign here,” she told Holly handing her the quill. Holly took hold of the quill and scrawled her name. Ravindra took back the quill. “I need your thumb,” Ravindra murmured. Holly held out her good hand. “Sorry, but it’s got to be the other one, your wand hand.” Holly switched hands. Ravindra pressed Holly’s thumb in a small white dish and then pushed it onto the paper next to Holly’s signature. A black thumbprint instantly appeared. Holly stared at her thumb in disbelief. It was clean with no sign of ink on it! “That makes it official.” Ravindra told Holly as she put the notebook back in her bag. “The paper’s spelled so it can’t be changed or modified once signed and finger-printed.  
          Now, for the identification.” Ravindra drew out the scroll with Sir’s picture. “That’s the guy, right?” she questioned. Holly nodded. Ravindra flipped the picture over and moved the quill so the point rested in the center of the page. The quill started rapidly writing: “Sir, identified by Miss Holly Ann Wycliff.” A date and time followed. “Sign it,” Ravindra directed handing Holly the quill. Holly again signed her name. Ravindra took the quill and put it away. “Your thumb again?” she requested. Holly held out her thumb. Ravindra pushed it into the plate and then onto the page. Again, a black thumbprint appeared. “Now, the identification is official,” she told Holly and tucked it back into her bag.  
          Then Ravindra pulled out a camera with a huge flash bulb attachment. “Just a moment,” she told Holly. “Uh, perhaps you’d better close your eyes first,” she suggested. Holly closed her eyes and heard the sound of several loud “pops” as Ravindra snapped several photos of her neck. “Be sure to send us a copy of her medical report,” Ravindra reminded the Healer as she had Holly open her injured hand and laid it flat on the cot.  
          “Of course,” murmured Healer Winonan as Ravindra photographed Holly’s hand on both sides.  
          “I’ve got to get your clothes, too,” Ravindra added as she pulled out a black satiny bag with the letters _MLE Evidence_ embroidered on the outside, “for evidence.”  
          “Why don’t we wait with that until we get her fixed up a bit and settled for the night,” suggested in Healer Winonan. “There’s more privacy in the rooms and usually some spare clothes in the drawers that she can change into…” Ravindra nodded. She set the black bag down and started putting the puffy pillows back into her nap-sack.  
          “Let’s get those marks taken care of first,” said the healer professionally while pulling out a small jar from his bag. He opened the jar and proceeded to smear some white smelly stuff on Holly’s neck. It immediately felt much better.  
          “That the only time he touched you?” asked Cousin Harry worriedly, protectively, while the healer put some more stuff on Holly’s hand; her bruised skin immediately cleared up.  
           “Yeah,” confirmed Holly, “except for when he brushed my hair. And then it was just my hair and I was frozen in place…” Holly shivered remembering how creepy he had felt. “It was almost if he knew he should keep his distance…” she mused.  
           “Perhaps he did,” agreed Cousin Harry thoughtfully.  
          Healer Winonan put lid back on the jar, returned it to his bag and drew out a small potion bottle. After uncorking it, he pulled out a spoon and filled it with a yellow-green potion from the bottle.  
          “Open,” he instructed holding out the spoon.” Holly obediently opened her mouth. This is for your hand,” he told Holly as she swallowed the contents of the spoon—lemon flavoured! Wow! “I think you have some fractured bones in there,” continued the healer. A warm tingling feeling spread out over Holly’s body and then seemed to center on her injured hand.  
          “I presume there’s no need for secrecy now that Sir knows she has escaped?” questioned Healer Winonan.  
          “Um, he may know she has escaped but not her current location,” replied Cousin Harry thoughtfully. “Though I’m sure he could correctly guess that she’s here… Hopefully, Sir’s on the run now that we know who he is and what he’s done, but I wouldn’t want to bet on it… Dean said no one recognized the picture which suggests some very good disguises…”  
          “Then let’s put her in the Muggle Ward,” Healer Winonan suggested. “Less distractions and it’s easier to control who goes in and out. You look fine, Holly,” he added, “but you must remain in the hospital for at least twelve hours to make sure, and you need your rest. Even without a kidnapper to worry about, it’s likely to become a zoo here once word leaks out that you’re alive,” continued the Healer. “I don’t think you’re ready for a lot of attention yet.”  
           Holly nodded appreciatively. She still couldn’t block and didn’t want deal with a lot of emotions. The interview had been stressful enough.  
          “Can you seal the whole ward off like you did for the Wycliffs last time?” Cousin Harry asked. “It’ll be easier to protect Holly that way. I’ll leave a list of visitors I’m expecting and you can let me know if anyone else wants to see her…”  
          “I think I can manage that. Fiona?”  
          “Yes?"  
          “Could you could let us pass?”  
          “Certainly,” she replied.  
          “Thank you,” said the healer. He reached out and pulled the edge of her picture frame. Immediately the portrait swung open revealing the Muggle ward on the other side of the wall. The healer brought a chair and held it under the hole. “You first,” he told Cousin Harry. Cousin Harry stepped forward, stood on the chair and crawled through. “And now you,” he told Holly gesturing to the hole in the wall.  
          Holly smiled. “Thank you,” she told him as she climbed onto the chair and scrambled through. Cousin Harry helped her down on the other side.  
          “And you, Miss Vasari.” Ravindra climbed through with her nap-sack.    
          “I’ll join you in a bit,” the healer told them through the opening and shut the portrait door.  
          “Let’s pick out a bed,” Cousin Harry suggested and the three started down the hall.

**********

           “How about this?” asked Ravindra holding out a huge faded blue shirt. It’s big enough to use as a night shirt and you’re supposed to be sleeping anyway.” They were in one of the rooms searching through the drawers for clothing Holly might wear in place of the jumpsuit.  
          “Perfect!” exclaimed Holly taking the shirt and holding it up to her neck. It was way long and easily covered her knees. “I can’t wait to get out of this thing!” Holly added referring to her jumpsuit.  
          “I’ll, uh, wait outside until you finish,” said Cousin Harry stepping out of the room giving them more privacy. “Let me know when you’re done,” he called from outside.  
          Holly took the shirt into the bathroom to change.  
          “Here,” said Ravindra handing Holly a basket filled with an assortment of soap, brushes and washcloths.  
          “Uh, no!” said Holly without thinking. That was the last thing Sir had ordered, and Holly was determined to do nothing Sir wanted…  
          “You need to,” said Ravindra following Holly into the bathroom. “You’ve got to wash away anything and everything that could remind you of Sir! Put the jumpsuit in here,” she added holding out that black evidence bag.  
          “But Sir said—”  
          “Cleaning is something everyone does,” cut in Ravindra not giving Holly a chance to finish, “not something to do just because _Sir_ wants it… Besides, it’s a tub! Not at all like what was in that place...”  
          “I suppose,” Holly said reluctantly as he took the evidence bag. She looked over the soaps in the basket—jasmine, honeysuckle, lavender; they were not soaps Sir would have provided.  
           “I’ll help out if you want,” Ravindra offered. Holly instinctively shuttered with Sir’s threat to “help” still fresh in her mind. “Or not…” Ravindra added noting Holly’s expression at the suggestion.  
          Holly looked around the bathroom. Ravindra was right about cleaning, and it was nothing like Sir’s shower… “I think I can manage,” she told Ravindra.  
          “Of course you can,” assured Ravindra and she withdrew from the bathroom.

**********

          Wizard Daniel Pilkington stared thoughtfully at the message Wizard Thomas had given him.

**_“Could you look in on Vernon Wycliff and see that he’s safe? Holly’s worried. Thanks._**   
**_H. Potter”_ **

                      A name and room number was written beneath the signature.

          “How’s Holly?” Daniel asked looking up from the note. It was late and Daniel would have usually been home at this time but knowing that the house elf spell would take place sometime after 6pm, if it happened, Daniel had remained in his office, just in case. Mr. Potter had stopped by briefly earlier to report that the house elf plan had succeeded and Holly was free. He promised to return with further information later.  
          “Physically, fine,” Wizard Thomas answered readily.  
          “And mentally?” Daniel already knew she was “physically” fine because Mr. Potter had had said as much.  
          “Mentally?” Wizard Thomas hesitated. “Well, I’m glad Healer Winonan sent me that note insisting I bring along a _female_ for the interview, preferably someone Holly _knew.”_  
          “Oh?”  
          “Yeah. The session was, _intense!”_ Wizard Thomas admitted; he shuttered as he spoke.  
          “It was?”  
          “Yeah. It sounds like he was testing her abilities and limits and the things he did to make Holly cooperate—” Wizard Thomas shuttered again. “I don’t know if Holly told us everything, but I doubt we could have learned as much as we did without Miss Vasari holding Holly’s hand the whole time… Holly was so upset just relating what she did that I would have stopped and finished up at a later time except I didn’t think Holly would be able to talk about it again. I’m classifying the transcript of the interview as “extremely confidential;” only those who “need to know” for investigative purposes can see it and then only with my express _written_ permission. I’ll put your name on the list, of course, as you’re her solicitor, but other than that, well, no one _needs_ to know the details of what happened unless Holly chooses to talk about them herself…  
          “And the kidnapper?”  
          “He called himself “Sir,” Wizard Thomas answered. “Tall, fairly young, blond hair, blue eyes; none of us have ever seen him before. He can Apparate without a sound and is very good at silent spells. If Holly’s story checks out, Sir was totally ruthless towards Muggles and Holly’s petrified that he’ll go after her friends and family for revenge. Holly’s friends are all safe at Hogwarts, right now,” continued Wizard Thomas thoughtfully, “which leaves the brother… I got the impression you know her brother?”  
          “Yes,” agreed Daniel. “I’ve met him once.”  
          “Good,” said Wizard Thomas with obvious relief, “because none of us do! Harry’s kept his Muggle relatives pretty close to his vest. It’s rather disturbing to think that this Sir seemed to know so much abut them…”  
          “Indeed,” agreed Daniel thoughtfully.  
          “Personally, I think the brother’s fine and will stay that way; the threats were clearly made to keep Holly in line and won’t be acted upon now that she’s free. Sir’s probably on the run with no time for revenge but Holly was upset so Harry said he’d look into it to calm her down.”  
          “Of course,” agreed Daniel politely while grabbing his formal black courtroom robe and moving towards his office door, “but since he asked, I suppose I should look in on the lad.” It was never politic to contradict the head of Magical Law Enforcement but Holly no doubt knew what “Sir” would or would not do much better than Wizard Thomas. If she was “worried,” then perhaps she had good reason. They might have more need for Winky’s “fetching” services... “Easing the worries of my clients is the way I earn my rent,” Daniel told Wizard Thomas cheerfully. He held his office door open for Wizard Thomas, a polite hint that it was time to leave. “Happy clients pay the bill faster,” Daniel added dismissively while the wizard walked out of the office. “I’ll let you know if I find anything suspicious,” Daniel promised as he stepped out the office.  
          “You do that.”  
          Daniel closed and locked his office door. “I’ll be seeing you,” he told Wizard Thomas with a slight bow. Then Daniel pulled out his wand and Apparated.

**********

          Daniel Pilkington arrived behind a hedge of bushes with a loud _crack!_ He looked around quickly in case he was noticed and saw no one. Reassured, Daniel draped his robe over his shoulders. It was dark out and the robe would help him blend into the shadows better. Daniel walked quietly out from behind the hedge and onto the sidewalk. Then he headed toward the private Muggle school named “Smeltings.” Daniel remembered the way easily having been there once before.  
          Stepping confidently as if he belonged, Daniel wandered through the campus looking at building names. Finally, he found the one carrying the same name as the word scrawled on the paper Mr. Potter had given him. It appeared to be a dormitory.  
           Daniel circled around back until he found a door. Locked, of course. That was no problem. Pulling out his wand and shielding his actions with his body Daniel whispered _“Alohomora.”_ The door opened easily. Daniel pocketed his wand and slipped inside the building. Daniel saw no one inside. It was late enough that most of the doors were closed; students had already settling in for the night. Daniel used the stairs and walked quietly to the fourth floor. Then it was a simple matter of finding the right door…  
          After that, things would not be so simple. Daniel wasn’t sure how to approach Vernon. He was fairly certain the boy did not know his sister was still alive or had been recently rescued. He doubted Vernon would believe Daniel if he told him about Holly or would take any threats against his life seriously without some sort of proof… Even if Vernon did believe the threats, what could he do against a Dark Wizard? That, of course, presumed the boy was still around to warn…  
          First things first: find Vernon…  
          Daniel reached the specified door and was about to knock when he heard some voices inside… _“Hmmm,”_ he thought. Perhaps there was a way to ascertain Vernon was fine without announcing his presence… Raising his wand he whispered _“Ampliar Siylbd.”_ Immediately the sounds in the room became louder and easy to hear.  
          “It’s not on the computers,” came one voice.  
          “Where is it, Perkins!” demanded a second voice in a more menacing tone.  
          “Somewhere safe,” came a third voice, presumably “Perkins.”  
          “Leave it be, Montague,” said a fourth, slightly familiar voice. “If we had wanted to post it we would have by now.” Post??  
          “No, you just want to hang onto it for future blackmail!” said the second voice scornfully, possibly “Montague.”  
          “I wouldn’t take any of _her_ money for any reason,” retorted Perkins. “You can tell her I took that five hundred pounds she sent me and donated it to the nearest homeless shelter!”  
          “A likely story!” said a disbelieving _fifth_ voice. _Five_ young men in the dorm room? It had to be crowded in there!  
          “I donated it in _her_ name, Pittman,” retorted Perkins. “They thought she was quite generous and intend to send a “thank-you!” Daniel wondered who “her” was.  
          “How thoughtful,” Montague’s voice dripped sarcasm. “So you shouldn’t mind giving us the video! Where is it?” Montague’s voice hardened menacingly.  
          “He doesn’t have it!” came that fourth, slightly familiar voice. “We gave it to someone else to keep safe for us, someone you don’t know.”  
          “I bet Wycliff gave it to that crazy sister of his!” chimed in Pittman. “You don’t “know” her!” _Wycliff!_ That had to be Vernon! He was here and O.K., if dealing with a handful of bullies could be considered “O.K.”  
          “Did you?” questioned Montague. He sounded serious. That was odd. Holly was alive, but how could the news have travelled so quickly. Daniel had only found out a few days ago! The bullies acted as if they knew she was alive all along. Was that possible?  
          “I’m not saying who we gave it to,” hedged Wycliff, “but if you persist in trying to get it you can bet Vanessa’s little act will be splashed all over the internet! Is that what she wants?” Daniel wondered what the “internet” was.  
          “She wants it _destroyed!”_ retorted Montague savagely.  
          “Before or _after_ you watch it?” questioned Wycliff.  
          “How _dare_ you!” Some sort of sounds of a struggle followed.  
          “Think it though,” stated Wycliff. His voice was tight as if in pain. “If we had it to give to you, which we don’t, you’d have to watch it just to make sure it was the right one. Trevors and Pittman would want to watch too—you want that? Even if you keep them from looking you’d still have to watch it to make sure. You think Vanessa wants that? It’s safe where it is and not doing any damage, Montague,” Wycliff reasoned. “Leave it!”  
          “I’d suggest Vanessa did her own asking,” added Perkins in a strangled sounding voice, “just to hear her grovel but honestly, I wouldn’t give it to her even if she did so tell her to not bother.” There were more sounds of struggle.  
          “You hurt him and it’s the internet for sure!” warned Wycliff loudly in a breathless voice!  
          “And what’s to prevent that from happening anyway?” questioned Montague in a furious tone.  
          “Because I trust _her_ more than I trust you and she won’t do a thing unless I tell her to!” responded Wycliff.  
           Suddenly Daniel heard the sounds of glass breaking. Other thuds, thumps and crashing sounds followed. “This isn’t over!” came Montague’s furious voice. Daniel hastily lifted his wand cancelling the listening spell and backed quickly away turning a corner to be less noticed. He heard the sound of the door opening. Peering cautiously around the corner Daniel saw three large students, two with brown hair, one with black, each carrying sturdy sticks, troop out and turn the opposite direction. “Room Inspection at 7:00am!” One of the brown haired boys, Montague from the voice, announced over his shoulder as he stomped off.  
           Sill watching, Daniel noted the door to Wycliff’s room remained open. He could hear the sounds of picking up within. Daniel leaned back against the wall and considered the situation. “Her” was definitely not Holly but he didn’t think Montague knew that, which was probably good for “her.” Daniel wondered who she was. He also wondered what it was of Vanessa’s that Montague was so intent on getting and why they wouldn’t give it to Montague or Vanessa. But that was not his business. What was, was figuring out a way to protect Wycliff from a possible Dark Wizard threat. If only there was a way to make Sir forget about Wycliff and go onto other matters…  
          Suddenly Daniel’s eyes lit up. Hadn’t Leila mentioned the Ravenclaws using an anti-Slytherin ward during the Potions Contest a few years ago? Holly’s kidnapper was surely a Slytherin… _“How did that ward spell go?”_ mused Daniel casting his mind back to that particular letter which mentioned the spell. Leila always sent him any new spells and Daniel had an excellent memory… _“Let’s see… put a ward above Vernon’s door, and another above his window after they go to sleep and no matter what Sir intended, he would be distracted into doing something else… That would keep Vernon safe during the night and when in his room…”_ Daniel could return in the early morning under a disallusionment spell to insure Vernon’s safety during daytime activities. Later, he could get together with Mr. Potter to discuss long-term protection after Holly was safely returned to her parents…  
          Now, all he had to do was wait for the boys to close their door so he could get to work. Daniel was tempted to cast a quick spell to hurry the cleaning along but didn’t; it was best the Muggles didn’t know he was around. Instead, Daniel slid down to the floor, made himself comfortable and settled in for a long night of waiting.


	16. Chapter 16

          “Have you got some scissors?” asked Holly as she came out of the bathroom, her freshly washed hair wrapped up in a towel. The bath had made her feel incredibly refreshed and more ready to face the world.  
          “Why?”  
          “I want to cut my hair!”  
          Ravindra looked at Holly in distress. “Your beautiful hair!” she exclaimed. “You can’t mean it!”  
          “All of it!” insisted Holly removing the towel and rubbing her hair to dry it.  
          “But why?”  
          “Sir wanted me to braid it,” began Holly explaining. “I don’t want to braid it ever!”  
          “Mmmm,” said Ravindra sympathetically while regarding Holly with her warm brown eyes. “I was thinking braids would be just the thing…”  
          “Never!”  
          “Not one braid,” added Ravindra explaining, “but many.”  
          “Huh?”  
          “Corn rows!” she exclaimed excitedly.  
          “What? But I couldn’t…”  
          “Of course you could,” argued Ravindra. “My fingers have been itching to do some braids ever since I took mine out last year,” she explained.  
          Holly flushed guiltily remembering how Ravindra had taken out her beautiful braids so Holly wouldn’t have flashbacks…  
          “I even have my lucky beads to tie them off,” added Ravindra excitedly. She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a handful of colorful beads.  
          “Your beads!” exclaimed Holly. “You still have them?” Ravindra nodded. “With you?”  
          Ravindra nodded again. “Of course,” she told Holly. “I’m never without them. My grandmother picked them out for me and made a necklace for me to wear when I was a baby. When I got older, I used the beads in my hair. There’s a lot of love in those beads,” she added looking down at the collection of colorful shiny beads.  
          Holly gulped. “No,” she exclaimed, “I could never take your beads!”  
          “You can if I give them to you,” replied Ravindra. “Take them,” she offered holding out her hand. “I think you could use some of that love with you. Besides,” Ravindra leaned over and whispered, “I bewitched the beads so if you throw one on the ground it’ll explode with a loud bang, fire, and lots of smoke!”  
          Holly’s eyes grew wide. “Really?” she asked with disbelief.  
          “Uh, huh!” replied Ravindra confidently. “Not only that, but anyone caught in the smoke will walk away smelling like skunk!”  
          “Skunk?” Holly giggled. “No!”  
          “Yes!” laughed Ravindra. “It’s my secret weapon when all else fails! You should have seen my cousin after he got me mad one day!” Ravindra added. “Or, rather smell him! It took a week for his mum to get the smell out!” She leaned over again and whispered. “Just imagine _Sir_ smelling like skunk!”  
          Holly giggled again despite herself. The image was just too good! “O.K.,” she told Ravindra. “Cornrow braids it is.” So she sat on the bed while Ravindra used her comb to sort out the tangles (not-to-gently so it wouldn’t feel anything like that time with Sir,) and then start braiding. With Ravindra’s hair braiding spell, which caused the hair to braid itself once started, the process didn’t take long at all.  
          “Well?” asked Ravindra when she was done. Holly looked in the mirror and stared in disbelief at the pale face and green eyes looking back at her framed in beaded braids. Ravindra had started a diagonal part in Holly’s head causing the braided hair to run from the right side of Holly’s forehead to her left ear with parallel rows across her head. The rest of the hair was braided in rows perpendicular to the diagonal line. Ravindra had finished off every braid with a colorful bead. Everything clinked musically when Holly experimentally swung her head back and forth.  
          “I like it!” said Holly though the sensation of beads and braids whistling around her neck felt incredibly weird. “Cousin Harry,” she called out. “I’m done!”  
          Cousin Harry came in. He didn’t exactly drop his mouth but Holly could sense the intense surprise when he looked at Holly.  
          “Like it?” she asked cheerfully and twirled around once to give the full impact of the beaded braids.  
          “It’s, ah, different,” he said diplomatically masking his emotions of uncertainty and mild dislike behind a bland inscrutable expression.  
          “I know,” said Holly eagerly. “Nothing at all to do with Sir…”  
          “Um, I’m not sure what your dad will say…”  
          “He’ll say Holly and braids is better than no Holly at all,” put in Ravindra cheerfully. “I’ve got to be going,” she told Holly, “get this stuff turned in and all,” Ravindra explained hefting her nap-sack. “You did good, little sister!” Ravindra told Holly, “real good!” and gave her one last hug. “See you later,” Ravindra added and left the room closing the door behind her.

***********

          “Hey, Holly, look what I’ve brought you!” Holly Wycliff looked up curiously at Mrs. Potter, who had just arrived. Holly was sitting on the bed reading the latest copy of the _Daily Prophet_ featuring Rita and a smiling man holding up a bag of galleons. Holly was supposed to be sleeping; she felt totally exhausted but couldn’t relax enough to sleep. She was afraid to sleep; afraid she’d wake up and find herself back in that room… Fortunately, Cousin Harry seemed to understand and didn’t force her to try.  
           “New clothes for tomorrow,” Mrs. Potter announced proudly while pulling out a purple t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, “some rainbow bubble bath and…” She unhooked the handle of the low round basket she’d been carrying and placed it on Holly’s lap.  
          Holly stared curiously and the red-checked towel that covered the basket. She lifted one end instinctively drew in a breath— _gray!_ Then she realized it was hair, fur, more accurately—scruffy bits of fur in between bald patches of gray skin. Holly drew back the rest of the towel and a skinny head seemed to rise up. Holly suddenly felt tired, shaky, sad, dizzy, weak, and achy all over! “Sasha?” Holly asked in disbelief. “Is that you?” She held out her finger under the cat’s nose. The wobbly head tilted and Holly ran her finger along the side of her cheek where the whiskers should have been. The “sad” sensation turned to disbelief and then hope. “Oh, Sasha,” Holly crooned as she gently lifted the skinny creature out of the basket and held her close in her arms. She was so light and thin! “What happened to you?” Sasha buried her nose in the crook of Holly’s elbow and began to purr. It was faint and weak but still a purr. Holly buried her face in the scratchy body, mentally reached for that purr, focused on it and Ginny’s cheerful emotions became muted and dim. Holly sighed in relief.  
           “You haven’t asked,” began Cousin Harry softly, “but there _was_ an explosion, a huge one. Your friends Mark and Becky, Mr. and Mrs. Owens, all suffered serious injuries. Becky and Mark got the worst and nearly died, probably would have had the healers not gotten there so quickly. They found Sasha in the rubble afterwards more dead than alive. I think your mum’s carry case must have helped shield her from the explosion somehow. We, ah, don’t really heal animals…” Cousin Harry added uncomfortably. His voice trailed off.  
          “Lily took charge of Sasha,” he continued. “Despite how bad Sasha was, Lily wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t let Sasha give up! She stayed up with Sasha around the clock, spoke constantly to her, sang to her, used every healing ointment and potion she could find; bugged Healer Winonan and Hermione for healing spells modifying them as best she could for use on Sasha; she even wrote Miss Crowley for help… I think it was Lily’s way of coping with your loss… As you can see, Sasha’s still alive but she usually just lays there… And we still have to coax her to eat. I don’t think Sasha can see very well, or hear … or smell for that matter…” Cousin Harry trailed off. “I haven’t heard her purr either—until now,” he added softly.  
          Holly looked up at Cousin Harry. She could feel the tears streaming down her face. “I’ve been so selfish,” she whispered guiltily. “I’ve been thinking of nothing but myself all this time!”  
          “I don’t agree,” said Cousin Harry quietly. “I would say the fact that Sir had to threaten your friends and family to secure your cooperation would suggest otherwise.”    
          His words made Holly feel better, but not much. Sasha was in such pain! Holly lay back on the bed and gently draped Sasha onto her chest, with the cat’s head under her chin, Sasha’s favorite position. Sasha leaned her head forward, buried her nose in Holly’s neck and continued to purr. The cat’s paws stretched out; the claws extended and contracted in weak kneading motions. Holly placed her hands gently on top of Sasha’s shoulders and focused on Sasha’s purr and the warmth and love behind it. Soon she fell soundly asleep.

 **********

          Ginny Potter pulled a blanket up onto Holly until the end rested just beneath Sasha’s head. She tucked it gently under Holly on either side. “She’s asleep now,” Ginny whispered to Harry. “Why don’t you get some sleep too?”  
          “I’m not sleepy,” protested Harry.  
          “You haven’t slept since you learned Holly was alive,” reminded Ginny. “And you’ve barely slept since the explosion."  
          “The kidnapper is still loose,” reminded Harry. “I promised I would stay with Holly until she got back to her family,” answered Harry. “I’ve got to keep her safe.”  
          “You can’t protect Holly if you’re too tired to keep your eyes open,” reasoned Ginny.  
          “I need to stay with Holly,” insisted Harry.  
          “So, stay with her,” replied Ginny not arguing. “You don’t have to sleep, but you should rest a bit. Just lean your head back against the wall and close your eyes,” she told him. “I’ll keep watch,” she promised and she drew out her wand.  
          “Well, just for a moment,” Harry agreed reluctantly. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  
          “Of course,” she agreed lovingly. “Only a moment.” Ginny sat quietly in her chair and waited. Soon she heard the deep even breathing that told her Harry was fast asleep. Ginny quietly got up and left the room. She returned with a couple of blankets. She draped one gently over Harry. Then Ginny wrapped the other around herself and sat back in her chair while holding her wand alertly. Healer Winonan had locked the ward up tight but Ginny intended to keep watch anyway. She had promised.

**********

          Holly Wycliff turned dislodging the weight on her chest. It winced as it slid off and then started to purr. _“Sasha!”_ thought Holly with surprise and delight coming awake abruptly. _“So it wasn’t a dream!”_ Keeping her eyes closed, Holly searched for other emotions. Finding only Cousin Harry’s, she turned her head towards him and opened her eyes.  
          “Good morning,” he said pleasantly.  
          “Good morning,” Holly answered happily. “What time is it?” she asked thinking how nice it was to know the time of day again.  
          “Um, around 10:30am,” he answered. “I hope you slept well.”  
          “I did,” assured Holly. She sat up and moved Sasha onto her lap. “Where’s Mrs. Potter?” she questioned.  
          “She’s sleeping in one of the other rooms,” replied Cousin Harry. “How about some food?” he inquired and nodded towards a tray filled with covered dishes that rested on the nightstand.  
          “I’m, uh, not really hu—”  
          “Hungry?”  
          Holly nodded.  
          “That’s O.K. Perhaps you’d rather get ready for the day first,” Cousin Harry suggested. “There’s kitty litter in the bathroom for Sasha, _rainbow_ bubble bath for you and Ginny’s set your new clothes on the chair,” he nodded at the chair next to him. “I’ll wait for you outside if you wish…” he offered.  
          “That’s O.K.,” Holly told him. “I can always shut the door…” she added reveling in the fact that she actually had a _door_ to shut…  
          Holly got out of bed while still holding on to Sasha with one arm. With her free arm, she grabbed the new clothes and bubble bath off the chair, went into the bathroom and _shut_ the door…  
          Feeling much refreshed, Holly eventually left the bathroom while again carrying Sasha. The poor thing was really too weak and frail to stand much.  
          “Breakfast now?” suggested Cousin Harry, who didn’t appear to have moved from his chair.  
          “Uh, yes, I guess,” replied Holly.  
          “Good. We’ve a rather busy day with a lot to get done before I get you back to your parents. I’d rather you not face it with an empty stomach…”  
          Holly sat down, pulled the nightstand next to the bed and lifted the lids. Oatmeal again, toast, jam and scrambled eggs. Well, that was an improvement of sorts. She spooned some of the oatmeal into one of the teacup saucers and thinned it with milk. “There,” she crooned to Sasha as she set the saucer on the bed next to her. “You’ve got to eat too! What would I do without you?” The cat crouched down and began to lap the food. Holly smiled lovingly at Sasha. Then she spooned some eggs onto the plate for herself, and slathered some red jam on a piece of toast. “Want some?” she offered looking up at Cousin Harry.  
          “Thank, you, I think I will,” replied Cousin Harry taking a piece of toast for himself and spooning some jam on it.  
          The two ate in silence for a while. Then Holly spoke, “You said we’ve a busy day,” she began. “What’s going on?”  
          “For starters, you have some visitors.”  
          “Oh? Who?”  
          “Mr. and Mrs. Owens,” replied Cousin Harry.  
          “The Owens?” questioned Holly. “Why are they here?”  
          “I asked them here,” replied Cousin Harry bluntly. “It seems both of them took your “death” very hard and felt somehow responsible. I thought it would do them good to see you alive and well.”  
          “Oh.” Holly finished up the eggs on her plate. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see the Owens, wasn’t sure what to say… “Anyone else?” she asked stalling.  
          “Your friends Mark and Becky,” came the reply.  
          “Mark and Becky?” asked Holly eagerly. “And you made them wait???!!! Where are they?”  
          “In the waiting room.”  
          “Well, send them in!” she demanded eager to see her friends.  
          “Not yet.”  
          “Huh?”  
          “There is one other visitor who has requested to see you…”  
          “Who?” asked Holly cautiously. Cousin Harry’s manner indicated it was not just a casual visitor.  
          “Rita Skeeter.”  
          “The reporter?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “Why?”  
          Cousin Harry picked up a cup and saucer. He poured some tea into it, stirred it around a bit before he answered. “I asked Rita to use the _Prophet_ to help us find your patronus,” he confessed while bringing the teacup up to his lips. “She agreed only on the condition that I ask you for an interview, if you were rescued… “Ask,” only,” he emphasized. “The final decision is yours…”  
          Cousin Harry’s emotions were hard to read.   They were a mixture of, Holly couldn’t tell what, but it wasn’t his usual hatred of Rita. “Do you want me to do this interview?” she asked finally.  
          Cousin Harry took another sip of tea, set the cup down on the saucer, set the saucer on the tray, and readjusted his glasses. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Yes,” he finally said.  
          “Why?” Holly knew his feelings about Rita and the _Prophet._  
          “There were a lot of people out looking for your patronus,” he began. “I like to think we’d have eventually spotted it, but it was one of her readers who found it first… Also, it’s a chance for you to thank the many people involved with your rescue. The Hufflepuffs who first realized you were alive, for example, and everyone who looked for your patronus…”  
          “And the person who sent me that dream?” asked Holly directly.  
          “I didn—”  
          “No, you didn’t,” confirmed Holly not giving Cousin Harry a chance to talk, “but someone did and it wasn’t Sir. Wizard Flint was the _only_ person I dreamed of the whole time I was there,” Holly continued explaining. “The _only_ one! He suggested I do something that could _only_ be seen from the outside and gave me the hope I so desperately needed,” she concluded. “My imagination would have never put those things together in that way and only _you_ would have known about the patronus reaching my parents... Wizard Thomas just didn’t ask the right question.” _“He probably didn’t try too hard, either,”_ thought Holly.  
          Cousin Harry regarded her steadily with unblinking green eyes. Finally he looked down, reached out for the teacup and took a sip. “Actually, it’s the best time to have an interview with Rita,” he said totally ignoring Holly’s words. “Because you’ve only just escaped,” he continued explaining, “Rita can’t put her usual nasty spin on the article or it would make her look heartless. She’ll have to keep the interview brief, too, as a long interview would tire you too much and Healer Winonan will object. Also, you can’t talk about anything relating to the escape because there’s an ongoing investigation. If Rita wants to know specifics about Sir, refer her to Dean. He’ll have a wanted photo and description ready to circulate. If Rita pushes or asks you anything you don’t wish to answer just tell her you can’t talk about that yet.” She’ll assume its part of the investigation and change topics…”  
          “And it will be a chance for me to thank the many people involved with my rescue,” added Holly slowly, “known and _unknown_.” She was certain someone had sent that message but equally certain Cousin Harry would never admit to it because it would get that person in trouble.  
          Cousin Harry straightened his glasses and looked at Holly. “Yes.”  
          Holly took a deep breath. “I guess I should do an interview…”  
          “Thank you,” said Cousin Harry softly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and then said. “I, uh, won’t be in the interview with you,” he told her. “I’ll be just outside instead.”  
          “Oh?”  
          “Yeah, that’s the way Rita wants it. I don’t think Rita trusts me to not influence the interview somehow…” he added reflectively. “You won’t be alone with her, though,” Cousin Harry hastened to add. “Dean will be there to stop you from saying anything that might compromise the investigation and Healer Winonan will be present as you’re still recovering. Any time you feel you can’t go on just let them know and they’ll end the interview for you…” He paused, letting his words sink in. “You still think you can do it?” he asked.  
          “Yes, s—, yes,” Holly replied firmly.  
          “I’ll let them know…”

**********

          The interview wasn’t all that bad an experience. Holly kept Sasha close, which helped her deal with the emotions. Rita acted sympathetic and, for the most part, actually listened to Holly’s answers before writing her responses. Healer Winonan immediately put a stop to multiple flash photos on the grounds that Holly had been living in an enclosed area and her eyes hadn’t yet readjusted to normal daylight. Wizard Thomas smoothly summarized Holly’s experiences when she mentioned how Sir had been testing her abilities so Holly didn’t have to relive any of the really bad stuff…  
          And when the interview drew to a close, Rita mentioned that she had seen the Owens and Miss Smith in the waiting room. “Were they, by chance planning to visit with Holly?” she asked sweetly. When she learned they were, Rita suggested they do a photo together: portkey travelers “reunited,” so to speak. Healer Winonan consented. So Rita went to fetch the others while Holly anxiously awaited the arrival of her friends. Cousin Harry had said it had been bad for them; Holly had no idea what to expect…

**********

          “I’m so sorry!” whispered Holly tearfully in Becky’s ear. “He said there’d been an explosion,” she sobbed, “but I couldn’t remember anything… And when he started threatening you and the others, I figured maybe he lied about the explosion or it wasn’t so bad; why else would he be threatening you if you weren’t basically O.K.?”  
          “It’s all right,” whispered Becky in return. “You couldn’t help it. This wasn’t your doing; it wasn’t your fault!”  
          Her words didn’t help Holly any. There was so much pain! Sir had done much worse to them than he had done to Conner or those other people and he hadn’t even said a word about it to Holly. How could she live with herself knowing what he had done because of her.  
          Rita hurried off after taking her photos—a paper to get out—leaving Holly some time in private with the Owens and Becky. Mr. and Mrs. Owens both gave Holly a tearful hug and made their own departure having errands to run before getting back to Ipswich. Healer Winonan brought out a tray of snacks and the three talked while sipping tea and eating hot buttered scones.  
          Holly kept Sasha on her lap the whole time while the three discussed school, weather, news, the trip to St. Mongols, anything but kidnappers and explosions. Mark dug out some bottles of Sabois to share. Holly thought the drink rather revolting reminding her distinctly of gray porridge, but it clearly gave such pleasure to Mark and Becky that she said nothing and politely pretended to sip the contents of her bottle.  
          Sipping the Sabois caused Holly to mention the horrible porridge she had been forced to eat all the time so Mark and Becky shared the comparative tastes of the different potions they had been taking every day. Beyond that, Holly found herself reluctant to describe her time in captivity. Mark and Becky described days of unending pain while Holly had hours of pain-free boredom. Mark and Becky’s appearances were a visible reminder of the explosion that had ripped all of their lives apart. Holly was acutely aware she had no such similar external scars and certain her overall experience paled to what Mark and Becky had gone through.  
          Holly was glad her friends had come to visit, but at the same time she felt relieved when Healer Winonan swept in and told the two visiting time was over; Holly had to have her check-out physical. Holly’s conversation with them had been uncomfortable. Both Becky and Mark had been in constant pain the whole time despite the potions they were taking. Sasha’s purr had helped Holly distance herself from the pain but not nearly enough. In addition, while they were both happy to see Holly emotionally, their youthful spark and energy was gone. The two seemed older, much older, somehow. Holly mourned the changes and their cause.

 **********

          “Well, how were they,” asked Healer Winonan conversationally after he had closed the door and the two were alone in the room.  
          “They hurt!” snapped Holly. “What do you think?”  
          “Yes, but in what way?” persisted the healer.  
          “They—you’re testing me!” accused Holly. “I said no testing, ever!”  
          “I’m not testing you!” denied Healer Winonan. “I am asking for your professional opinion. If this were a test then I would have included Mr. Potter in our conversation as your guardian but I didn’t. Mr. and Mrs. Owens have refused additional healing services claiming they are “fine” but I don’t believe them. Young Mr. Owens and Miss Smith also claim they are doing “fine” but I am not satisfied with their progress. Now, I heard you talking and I know you feel guilty for what happened; you shouldn’t, but I can see how you might. This is one way you can help undo the damage Sir has done."  
          Holly gulped. “But Sir—”  
          “I’m not Sir, Holly,” reminded Healer Winonan, “I’m not demanding random information just to prove I can make you answer, I want to know specific details so I can _heal_ , which I shall attempt to do with or without your assistance, and if you say “no,” the only consequence you will get is the knowledge that you could have helped someone but didn’t. You have a unique talent, Holly,” he added persuasively. “That hasn’t changed because of Sir. What has changed is the person who decides how you use that talent. _You_ decide now,” he told her. “And only you! Decide to use your talent to help them get better!”  
          Holly closed her eyes, swallowed anxiously. He was right, of course, but the thought of doing anything Sir had required ever again was so repulsive—Holly gulped again and rubbed the tears from her face. “Mr. and Mrs. Owens still hurt,” she began in a quivery voice, “but it’s not too bad…” Holly continued to describe the symptoms she had felt while near the Owens. Then she described the stronger sensations she received from Becky and Mark. “…and either the pain potions haven’t been working or they’re not taking them because they taste so awful. Anyway, the only time they actually feel any relief is when they’re drinking that Sabois, which, as far as I’m concerned, is a perfectly _ghastly_ drink!” Holly finished.  
          “I don’t know as if I would go that far,” said Healer Winonan mildly. “Quite a few young witches and wizards seem to like Sabois so it can’t be all that bad, but I can assure you that whatever relief your friends are feeling from the drink is purely psychological; there is nothing remotely healing in Sabois. I tested Sabois myself as I do all popular drinks to insure they are not bewitched to guarantee popularity… But I digress. Thank you for the information,” he told Holly gravely. “I know that was difficult for you but it has been most helpful. You confirmed what I was beginning to suspect, that Miss Smith and Mr. Owens have developed a resistance to the potions they are currently receiving. I shall change and/or modify their potions immediately—In addition, I shall make sure the new potion has a more pleasing taste. No potion does any good if it is not taken…"  
          And as long as I have you, we might as well do your follow-up exam before your release. Have a seat,” he suggested patting the bed next to him. Holly sat down and settled Sasha on her lap as Healer Winonan proceeded to bring out his various instruments and look Holly over from top to bottom checking eyes, ears and lungs in the process.  
          “Any problems sleeping?”  
          “No s—, no.”  
          “You’re looking much better,” he murmured approvingly as he worked, “more rested and not so emaciated. Are you experiencing any headaches? Nightmares? Diarrhea? Constipation? Nausea? Dizziness? Stomach cramps?”  
          “No, no, no and no,” replied Holly promptly. “I feel fine!”  
          “Any other problems I should be aware of?”  
          “No.”  
          “That’s good. You don’t seem to be under any lingering spells either.” Holly breathed a sigh of relief. “Here’s a diet list to give your mum,” Healer Winonan added while handing Holly a piece of folded parchment. “Be sure to follow it the first week of your return.”  
          “Yes, s—, yes,” agreed Holly and she set the parchment down on the bed next to her.  
          “And here,” he added pulling out a pair of sunglasses from his bag. “Use this when you’re outside for a while,” as he handed the glasses to Holly. “I’ll let you decide for how long.”  
          “O.K.,” replied Holly as she put them on the bed too.  
          “That should about do it,” said the healer as he put his things away. “There is only one more thing we need to discuss before I approve your release…”  
          “Oh?”  
          “Your cousin informs me that you mentioned that your dreams have changed since your imprisonment…”  
          Holly felt her face warm. “What, uh, what did he say?”  
          “Just that you said they changed,” replied the Healer. “What have you been dreaming?”  
          “Nothing,” mumbled Holly.  
          “I know you think I am prying, but dreams are the easiest way a dark wizard can use to attempt to control your actions. That’s why you’re supposed to be practicing Occlumency every night. Sir is still out there,” the Healer Winonan reminded. “I can’t let you return home if I have reason to believe you or your family are at risk because of your dreams. So I must ask again, what have you been dreaming?”  
          “Nothing!” repeated Holly more firmly. “Just nothing. No people, no things, nothing! Just endless gray—the kind that matched that horrible place! I couldn’t get away from it even in my dreams!” she added bitterly.  
          “And that’s still what you’re dreaming?” questioned Healer Winonan gently.  
          Holly clutched herself tightly, sniffed and nodded. “Don’t make me stay,” she begged suddenly. Her dreams weren’t right, and she knew that but the prospect of remaining because of her dreams suddenly turned the hospital into a prison, a larger prison, but still a prison as confining as the one Sir had constructed.  
          “You should stay until the dreams return to normal,” began Healer Winonan, “but I can’t imagine you being influenced into doing anything by endless gray…” Holly looked up hopefully. “So I will release you for now—”  
          “Oh, thank you!” gushed Holly throwing her arms around the healer.  
          “…on the condition you notify me immediately the moment your dreams change…” he added sternly while extracting himself from Holly’s arms.  
          “Oh yes, of course!” agreed Holly without hesitation. She bounced off the bed grabbing Sasha as she moved, rushed to the door and opened it. “He says I can go home!” Holly sang out to Cousin Harry who was seated outside the room.  
          “Congratulations! “ he told her warmly. “Then I suggest we leave whenever you’re ready.”  
          “I’m ready right now!” Holly said excitedly. “Just a moment!” She put Sasha on the bed while she quickly shoved the sunglasses and diet list into her pocket. Then Holly picked up Sasha, grabbed the basket and returned to Cousin Harry. “Let’s go!” she said eagerly, elated by the prospect of seeing the sun and the sky again.  
          “I, ah, guess we’ll be going now,” said Cousin Harry to Healer Winonan.  
          “I expect her back in a week for a check-up!” instructed the Healer.  
          “If I can,” hedged Cousin Harry.  
          “No “if!” admonished the healer. “I want her back! One doesn’t recover from a thing like this overnight! There’s bound to be other after-affects.”  
          “Yes, sir,” said Cousin Harry meekly. “I’ll try…”   
          Healer Winonan rolled his eyes up. “No “try” either,” he muttered. “Be careful,” he told Holly giving her a final hug.  
          “I will,” she told him.  
          “Shall we?” she questioned looking at Cousin Harry.  
          “I believe so,” he replied. “Come on.” He started down the hall.  
          “Bye!” Holly said happily and gave a final wave to the healer before following Cousin Harry.


	17. Chapter 17

          Harry Potter opened the Muggle entrance and stepped outside.  
          “Daylight!” exclaimed Holly happily as she walked out. She twirled several times with her face to the sky before putting on the sunglasses Healer Winonan had provided. Harry rummaged in his pocket and brought out a worn card bearing Stan’s name and taxi service.  
          “You told about my dreams!” Holly suddenly accused.  
          “Yes,” agreed Harry calmly. “You said you weren’t dreaming of people,” he reminded her.  
          “I could have talked about Flint!”  
          Harry shrugged. “Your safety was more important,” he told her knowing that telling Winonan would not have been the same as Dean. “I didn’t tell him that you couldn’t block,” Harry reminded Holly distracting her from the dream topic.  
          “What?”  
          “You still can’t block can you?” he told her. “You hid it well but I was watching and I could see it in your face. I thought about telling him but you said “no tests” and blocking is part of that.”  
          “Thank you,” said Holly in a small voice rubbing Sasha’s ears as she spoke. Sasha looked much more alert and energetic after a night with Holly.  
          “I still should have told the healer but I am not sure it is a problem he can assist in…   When you were first learning to block, Healer Winonan told me there are no spells or potions to enable you to block,” continued Harry thoughtfully, “I can’t imagine anything out there doing the opposite, preventing you from blocking... Did Sir ever discuss whether or not you could block?”  
          “No,” whispered Holly. “Never once.”  
          “Do you think that was that because he knew you couldn’t block or that blocking made no difference in his plans?”  
          “I don’t know,” whispered Holly. “I was afraid to ask…”  
          “Of course,” agreed Harry. “Do you have any idea why you still cannot block?”  
          “No,” she confessed. “I’ve tried and tried and nothing happens! At the time, I thought he had put something in my food, but now I’m not so sure…”  
          “Hmmm. One day may not be enough time for your body to get rid of things eaten,” mused Harry. “I suggest we revisit this problem after a week of decent food with your parents.”  
          “Yes, s—, yes,” said Holly clearly relieved he was dropping the topic.  
          Harry looked down at Holly. “I’m not Sir,” he told her sternly.  
          “I know,” she whispered.  
          “The word “sir” has more meanings other that the play of words Sir devised…”  
          “I know.”  
          “The more you change your life because of what he has done, Holly, the more control Sir retains over you…” Harry paused to let that sink in. “Think about it,” he added giving her a reassuring hug. “Now, would you like to do the honors?” he asked handing her his card.  
          “Stan?” Holly questioned looking up at him with her green eyes.  
          “Of course,” replied Harry. “Sasha can’t Apparate. Besides we have some errands to run first…”  
          “We do?”  
          “Yes. Your passbook for one, it was horribly ruined in the explosion and you need to get a replacement.”  
          “Oh. Stan?” Holly called into the card. “We need you… What else?”  
          “We can talk about that later,” Harry assured as a battered taxi drove swiftly up to the curb, “once we’re on our way.”  
          “It’s ‘olly!” greeted Stan warmly when he got out of the taxi. He strode over to Holly, wrapped her into a huge bear hug, lifted her off her feet and swung her around in a circle several times. “I wus hopin’ I’d see yeah!” he added happily. “Lookit you all pretty with them beads! Jus’ like in th’ photos!” he added happily while setting Holly gently down and releasing his grip. “Rita sent out a special edition of th’ _Prophet_ all about yer escape an’ it’s sellin’ like hotcakes! Yer famous!” Harry cringed inwardly at the thought of all that publicity but it couldn’t be helped. “Where to?” Stan asked Harry cheerfully as he opened the taxi door for them.  
           “The Muggle bank, if you please,” replied Harry. He held Holly’s basket while she got in and then got in and sat next to her.  
          “Right away!” replied Stan. He shut the cab door as soon as they were both settled and then hurried to his own door. “I’ll have to rush,” he told them while the taxi took off down the road. Harry instinctively grabbed the armrest and wrapped his arm around Holly’s shoulder hanging on tight; neither had had a chance to strap in. “They close soon.” The taxi spun around the corner at breakneck speeds slipping between the other vehicles on the road. “But don’t ya worry!” Stan added confidently while turning the taxi violently in the other direction without slowing. “I’ll get you there in time!”  
          “If anyone can do it, it’s you,” Harry managed to say as they zipped through an intersection without pausing. The taxi suddenly pulled up to a curb and abruptly stopped.  
          “Here ya are!” Stan told the two proudly, “wid time ta spare!” He popped out and swiftly opened the door to let Harry and Holly out.  
          “Thanks so much,” said Harry as he stepped onto the sidewalk.  
          “That was a perfectly marvelous ride!” exclaimed Holly happily as she got out of the taxi. Her green eyes shone brightly with excitement. “I’d forgotten how wonderful they were!”  
          “My pleasure!” said Stan cheerfully giving Holly a courtly bow, clearly flattered by the compliment. “Oh, and this is for you!” he added pulling out a business card and handing it to Holly with a flourish. “Something tells me you might have lost the other one…”  
          “I have,” agreed Holly gravely while taking the card. “At least I, uh, don’t know where it is… Thank you very much.”  
          “No problem.” Stan returned to his door and opened it. “Call when you need me!” he called out as he returned to the wheel and, giving a final wave out the window, sped off.  
          “Well,” said Harry, “shall we?” He looked down at Sasha cradled in Holly’s arms. “Um, I don’t think they permit pets inside…” Holly gently placed Sasha in the basket and covered it partially with the blanket. “They’ll have to,” she told Harry. “Sasha’s too fragile. She’d freak if I kept her outside. I won’t do that to her. She won’t move or make a sound. Perhaps they won’t notice….”  
          “Perhaps,” said Harry dubiously. They would only ask her to leave if they found out; Harry started mentally running through all the plausible excuses he could think of for carrying around a cat trying to decide which would be most persuasive, just in case…

**********

          Cousin Harry was intensely relieved the bank officials never noticed the contents of the basket. Of course, Holly Wycliff knew they wouldn’t. Sasha always knew when to keep quiet and still. The officials were more interested in the charred remains of the passbook that had to be replaced. The sight of it almost made Holly physically ill, realization brought home of what Becky and the others had suffered during her capture. Cousin Harry told the inquisitive bank staff it had been burnt during a “bad fire…” That made it seem even worse to Holly. Cousin Harry’s calm expression and outwardly casual explanation hid a deep surge of dark emotions that served to understate what had to have been a cataclysmic event to all who had seen it.  
          It took a mound of paperwork, but eventually Holly received a brand new passbook and the two of them left the bank.  
          “Where to next?” asked Holly when she saw Cousin Harry draw out Stan’s taxi card.  
          “Diagon Alley.”  
          “What?” exclaimed Holly instantly alarmed. “I can’t go there! I just can’t!”  
          “I know,” replied Cousin Harry, “but we must. You’ve no wand, Holly and I’m not returning you to your family without one.”  
          “But all the people! I can’t—”  
          “You’ve got Sasha,” reminded Cousin Harry. “And I’ve my cloak if you need it,” he added reassuringly, “but if you can manage, I’d rather you didn’t use it.”  
          “Wh-why?” asked Holly fearfully. She had already grabbed Sasha from the basket and held her close just at the thought of Diagon Alley.  
          “Actually, it was something Fiona said while I was waiting for your interview to end,” began Cousin Harry.  
          “Oh?”  
          “She said she hoped people would sleep easier now…”  
          “Did she?”  
          “Yeah. I got to thinking after she said that. Your cousins had nightmares after the explosion, bad ones,” he told Holly. “And they only saw the smoke from a distance. Ginny was up a lot afterwards too. Me, well, I haven’t slept very well since that day either…   It occurs to me we haven’t been the only ones with sleeping problems.” Cousin Harry’s voice trailed off. “A lot of people saw that explosion, Holly,” informed Cousin Harry quietly. Holly sensed a sudden burst of emotions both grim and sad. Where was Cousin Harry when it happened? Clearly not with his family… “Many of us up close,” Cousin Harry continued. Holly could tell that Cousin Harry had been one of them… “I doubt any of us will ever forget what we saw...” Holly grieved inwardly at his words and the emotions that came with them. “If the rest of those who were there are like me,” finished Cousin Harry thoughtfully, “I think seeing you alive and well may help set their minds at ease.”  
          Holly gulped. “I guess I can try…” she said hesitantly.  
          “Thank you,” said Cousin Harry sincerely and Holly felt both gratitude and relief emanate from her cousin, “that’s all I could ask. Stan?” he called out. “We need you…”

**********

          Holly Wycliff held Sasha close in her arms and focused on her contented purr. Sasha was happiest when Holly held her. She and Cousin Harry stood right outside the Leaky Cauldron.  
          “Ready?”  
          “I guess so,” Holly lied. She would never be ready. Never ever, _ever!_ But Cousin Harry was so certain Holly’s mere presence would help the others and Holly felt so guilty about all the horrible things Sir had done to get her, she was determined to try.  
          “It’ll be O.K.,” Cousin Harry assured her though his emotions weren’t quite as confident. “You’ll see.” He reached out and opened the door… Cousin Harry walked confidently inside. Holly followed much less confidently; she kept her head down, focused on Sasha’s purr and hid herself as much as possible behind Cousin Harry’s body.  
          The Leaky Cauldron was filled with emotions, wizard emotions, mostly male. Even with Sasha helping her block Holly immediately sensed a change in the emotions within the room; there was a combination of interest and warmth that seemed to read “recognition” as Cousin Harry moved forward.  
_“They must know Cousin Harry,”_ thought Holly as she didn’t recognize any of the other emotions within the room. Cousin Harry continued to move forward and Holly reluctantly followed, an action that brought her into full view. The emotions changed to include “disbelief” and “surprise” with the “recognition.” Gradually, the room became deathly silent.  
          “It’s ‘olly!” came a surprised sounding voice. Holly froze at the sound of her name. Cousin Harry stopped. Holly kept her head down, certain everyone was staring at her.  
          “Hey, everyone,” said Cousin Harry in a light sounding voice. “You remember my cousin Holly?” He stepped to one side so Holly was no longer behind him. “She just got released from St Mungo’s,” he added cheerfully.  
          Holly hesitantly lifted her eyes and looked anxiously at all the strange faces staring back at her around the room. None of the faces were Sir’s. “Uh, hi?” said Holly timidly feeling a need to say something. She tilted her head back down and buried her nose in Sasha’s fur unable to face all those eyes staring at her. Holly focused her mind on Sasha’s rumbling purr while trying to drown out the surrounding emotions.    
          Suddenly, she heard a sound, a rather loud sound—the sound of a “clap” that seemed to echo on the room. Another “clap” followed. And then another and another… Soon the whole room was filled with the sound of clapping hands! And then there were shouts and cheers! Holly could feel so much elation and joy that the emotions overpowered Sasha’s purr and drenched her in happiness! She had never felt anything like it before. Holly could feel the tears streaming down her face as she lifted her head and again looked into the eyes of the strangers around her. They were all smiling and laughing and cheering. Holly heard all sorts of praise and comments such as “Well done!” and “Good to see you!” and “We’ll find ‘im! Don’t worry!” called out between the cheers.  
          “Speech! Speech!” someone shouted. The room grew quiet again, expectant.  
         Holly looked up at Cousin Harry in panic. What could she say to all these strangers? Cousin Harry nodded and gave her an encouraging smile. Then Holly remembered how Cousin Harry had told her lots of people had looked for her patronus and there was still someone out there who had sent her the Flint dream… She took a deep breath and looked back at all the people. “Um, Thank you!” said Holly in a soft but clear voice. “Thank you all so much!” The room erupted in cheers again.  
          Cousin Harry laughed and she sensed his pride and relief. “If you’ll excuse us,” he loudly told the group, “we’ve a bit of shopping to do before the shops close.” The group cheered some more as Cousin Harry took Holly’s elbow and guided her through the people who now reached out to shake her hand or just touch her as she passed…  
          The barkeep pressed a mug of butterbeer in Holly’s hand as they were leaving the Cauldron. “On the house!” he told her. “You deserve it!”  
          “That was incredible!” exclaimed Holly when they had managed to shut the door to the Cauldron and stood in the small yard behind it.  
          “I’m sorry,” apologized Cousin Harry. “I confess I never expected that,” he admitted. “Rita must have done a real write-up on you!”  
          “No! It’s O.K.,” replied Holly quickly. “It’s just that I have never felt so much absolute joy before! I mean, people are “happy” when under the _Imperius Curse_ , but not like that! This was so much more warm and real with so many other layers of emotions!” Holly leaned her back and head against the door trying to capture the last vestiges of bliss from the other side.  
          “Perhaps I should give you my cloak for the rest of the way?” suggested Cousin Harry worriedly reaching under his shirt.  
          “No,” replied Holly deciding swiftly. “I think you were right to suggest I not use it, it’s just that—what a rush!” she concluded totally energized by the experience. “It would have been scary if the emotions had been angry or something,” Holly added while standing straight again.  
          She looked at the mug still in her hand, took a deep breath and gulped down the butterbeer within wishing it were a proper glass of rusty water but at the same time remembering the love, warmth and sincerity of the person who gave it to her. When she finished the butterbeer, Holly set the mug carefully down near the door and fixed her eyes on the bricked up wall in front of her. “Let’s do this!” Holly stated firmly before she lost her courage, well aware that Diagon Alley had ever so many more people than the Leaky Cauldron.  
          Cousin Harry drew out his wand and tapped the bricks. They folded and unfolded and folded again making the familiar archway that led to Diagon Alley.

***********

          Not nearly as apprehensive as before, Holly held Sasha securely with one arm, took Cousin Harry’s arm with her free hand and walked alongside as they ventured into the Alley. At first, nothing much happened. The shop owners and the customers all stopped whatever they were doing and stared as the two walked past; Holly could feel everyone’s eyes on her. Then there was a low rumble of words; Holly caught her name mentioned several times as they continued walking. More and more witches and wizards gathered in the Alley just watching.  
          Abruptly a witch ran out of a store carrying a butterfly bouquet. She pushed through the growing crowd and stopped in front of Holly. “For you, miss,” she said holding out the bouquet. “I read how everything was gray and you longed for a bit of colour!”  
          Holly released Cousin Harry’s arm and took hold of the bouquet. The butterflies fluttered gently back and forth while sitting on their flowery stems. “Thank you,” replied Holly sincerely. “They’re beautiful!” She removed one of the butterflies and placed it on her head and placed the rest of the bouquet in Sasha’s basket.  
          “And nothing can chase away the mealtime blaas better than a piping hot beef and kidney pie!” chimed in a wizard holding out a meat pie in front of Holly.  
          “She’s vegetarian, silly!” exclaimed another voice.  
          “Not when it smells as good as this pie does!” denied Holly loudly while quickly taking the pie before the wizard could feel embarrassed by his gift. Holly held it up to her nose and inhaled the warm meaty scent. “This smells marvelous!” she told the man tucking pie into her basket. He flushed with pride. “Thank you so much! I can’t wait to try it!” she told him honestly deciding then and there to ditch Winonan’s dietary list. Just the thought of the pie set her mouth to salivating… “Thank you everyone!” she told the group that had gathered around her. “I don’t know what I would have done without, without your support!” They all cheered.  
          By the time they had made it to the front door of Ollivanders Holly had quite a collection of goodies to eat, perfumes and other scented items, and colorful things to wear and look at. Even Sasha had an assortment of ribbons, and cat toys and treats.  
          “I hope you’ll excuse us,” Cousin Harry told the crowd genially, “but we’ve a wand to buy.” He held the door open for Holly, followed her in and closed the door firmly behind him. Holly breathed a sigh of relief at the immediately muted emotions. The walk down Diagon Alley had been stressful despite Sasha and all the surrounding warm emotions. Would it be like that when she left too?  
          “Welcome!” said the frail old wizard with wide pale eyes who greeted them. “It is so good to see you again, Miss Wycliff,” he added warmly.  
          “And you too,” replied Holly honestly suddenly raging inwardly at the sterile world Sir would have kept her in, bereft of love, laughter and variety.  
          “We need a new wand…” began Cousin Harry.  
          “Of course,” said Wizard Ollivander. “I thought you might be coming so I’ve already set aside some possibilities…” he pointed to a stack of wand boxes already sitting on the counter. “Shall we begin?”  
          “Yes,” agreed Holly. She handed her filled basket to Cousin Harry, set Sasha down on the floor and turned to the wizard ready to “swish” wands.

**********

          Harry Potter watched as Mr. Ollivander picked up the first box, withdrew the wand and handed it to Holly. Before she could “swish” the wizard placed a restraining hand on Holly’s wrist. “You are a full fledged witch, now,” he told her. “All wands will work for you if you insist, though some will work better than others. You need not “swish.” Just look for the wand that “feels” right…” Harry nodded in silent agreement. He knew from personal experience that different wands did not feel the same even though he had made them work, sort-of.  
          “Huh?” questioned Holly.  
          “How does it feel?”  
          “I don’t understand…”  
          “Just a moment and I think I can show you,” said Mr. Ollivander. He walked into the back of his shop and returned with a wand box. He opened the box and took out a polished black wand and held it out to Holly. “Hold this wand,” he told her, “but don’t try to use it…”  
          Holly put down the wand she was holding and cautiously took the new wand… “Ew!” she exclaimed immediately dropping the new wand on the counter.  
          “Not a good match,” said Mr. Ollivander with satisfaction. He carefully picked up the wand and returned it to the box. “You want a wand that feels right for you,” he told Holly. “That’s what you’re looking for. Excuse me while I put this away,” said Mr. Ollivander retreating again into the back room.  
          Holly frowned thoughtfully while she waited for Mr. Ollvander to return. “That was Bellatrix’s wand!” she exclaimed suddenly while looking up at the Mr. Ollivander. He had just come into view.  
          Mr. Olivander gave a start and looked at her in surprise. “Yes, it was,” he answered softly. “How did you know?”  
          “I, ah, uh, I’ve seen the wand before,” Holly admitted. “Becky Smith’s my best friend,” Holly continued. “She had that wand at the beginning of our first year and it didn’t work right. She had to go with Hagrid to get a new wand from you,” Holly continued. “She told me all about the trip and what you said when she got back…”  
          Harry knew all that was true; Hagrid had told him about the trip. But he doubted that was why Holly had recognized the wand. He suspected the recognition had more to do with that personal meeting Holly had had with Bellatrix while she was in the Tom Riddle world…  
          “You have a very good memory for wands, Miss Wycliff,” complimented Mr. Ollivander. “That indeed was the wand Miss Smith brought in. She and it did not make a good match… But we must find a wand that is a good match for you…” He handed Holly a wand. “How does this feel?” he asked.  
          Holly held the wand. “Okay,” she answered uncertainly.  
          “Your new wand must feel more than “Okay,” Mr. Ollivander told Holly. He took the wand and returned it to the box. “Try this one,” he suggested handing Holly another wand.  
          Holly shrugged. “The same?” Holly held several wands; each had the same unimpressive feeling.  
          Mr. Ollivander paused and looked at Holly intently. “She no longer favours your mum as much,” he commented to Harry.  
          “No,” agreed Harry, “not any more. She is her own person.”  
          Mr. Ollivander studied Holly some more and Holly looked back staring into his wide silvery eyes. “Perhaps I’ve misjudged my selection a bit…” he murmured and retreated into the back room.  
          “Can you really tell Bellatrix’s wand just by holding it?” Harry whispered.  
          “Yes.”  
          “What about mine?” he asked drawing his wand and holding it out to Holly.  
          Holly took hold of the wand, closed her eyes and smiled. “Yep, definitely you,” she replied. She opened her eyes and handed the wand back.  
          “Interesting,” Harry said while pocketing his wand.  
          “Is it important?”  
          “I doubt it. Mr. Ollivander says he knows every wand he ever made and to whom he sold them. It’s just interesting.”  
          Mr. Ollivander returned with a stack of wand boxes. He opened the top box, removed the wand and said, “Try this.”  
          Holly took the new wand and gripped it tight. “I don’t know,” she told him uncertainly. “Maybe?”  
          “We don’t want a “maybe?” Mr. Ollivander told Holly confidently. “But we’re getting closer… How about this?” and he held out another wand.  
          Holly put down the wand in her hand and picked up the next wand… and another and another… Abruptly Mr. Ollivander reached under the counter, dug around a bit and pulled out a dusty wand box. “Try this,” he suggested pulling out a smooth reddish-brown coloured wand with some sort of carvings along the side.  
          Holly took hold… “Yes!” she exclaimed suddenly. She pointed the wand at the ground. _“Expecto patronus!”_ she shouted and a silvery gray cat erupted from the point. A faint odor of mothballs seemed to come with it. “Look!” she said pointing to it. “Isn’t she a beauty?”  
          “She is indeed!” agreed Harry. “And not a bit sad at all!” he added remembering the sorrowful creature he had seen at Dudley’s.  
          “Rainbow and Unicorn hair, nine inches,” said Mr. Ollivander with satisfaction. “A splendid combination. I should have realized it sooner with all those beads you’re wearing…”  
          “Rainbow?” questioned Harry with a laugh. “Seriously?” It didn’t look “rainbow” at all.  
          “Rainbow Eucalyptus,” replied Mr. Ollivander. “I got some from a peddler who had been in Asia. He said it came from the Philippines. I was young and making wands of all sorts of wood at the time… Rainbow wood makes marvelous wands but I didn’t make many with it,” he added informatively.  
          “Oh?”  
          “Yes. A eucalyptus wand gives off the eucalyptus scent every time it’s used. The professors at Hogwarts complained. They were of the opinion that the scent adversely distracted other students in the classroom.”  
          “I think it smells wonderful!” exclaimed Holly delightedly, “just like grandmum’s house!”  
_“That, I can believe!”_ thought Harry dryly remembering Aunt Petunia’s fetish with cleanliness.  
          “May I?” asked Holly hopefully holding out the wand, her green eyes shining brightly.  
_“Well”_ Harry thought, _“knowing Dudley, I doubt Holly will be returning to Hogwarts anyway so there’s no danger she’ll disturb the professors or other students …”_ “Rainbow it is,” he said aloud. “How much?”  
          “Nothing,” replied Mr. Ollivander. “No, it isn’t charity,” he continued as Harry reached into his pocket for some coins anyway. “It’s a gift from the Hufflepuffs.”  
          “The Hufflepuffs?”  
          “Yes. They knew you’d be by to get Miss Wycliff a new wand Mr. Potter and they already paid for it. The wand is their gift to you, Miss Wycliff,” he added looking directly at Holly. “They are so very glad you are alive and free again. We all are.”  
          Holly leaned up over the counter. “Thank you so much, Mr. Ollivander!” she exclaimed giving him an impulsive hug. Then she took the wand and raced outside.  
          “Uh, thanks,” Harry told Mr. Ollivander. He picked up Sasha and hastened outside too.  
          “Look at my new wand!” Holly exclaimed to the crowd still outside. She happily exhibited the new wand above her head. “Thank you so much everyone! _Expecto patronus!”_ Holly shouted waving the wand. Holly’s silvery cat burst forth again and she sent it racing around in a streak above their heads spreading the faint odor of mothballs everywhere. The crowd laughed and cheered at the show. Holly laughed with them.  
          “Come along, Holly,” Harry told Holly. “It’s time to go.”  
          “Oh,” said Holly rather sorrowfully, “must we?”  
          “Yes,” he said firmly while handing her Sasha. “Say “good-bye” to all the nice people,” he added.  
          “Good-bye!” Holly sang out as Harry gently took hold of her elbow. “I’ve got to go!” she told the group. Her patronus vanished and Holly reluctantly moved up the Alley at Harry’s urging.  
          “Why do I feel so light-headed?” Holly asked after they had gone several steps.  
          “I think you’ve had too much happiness,” replied Harry.  
          “Really? Is that possible?”  
          “Apparently.”  
          “Are you sure?”    
          “Well, you can’t block, you’re not using Sasha and you’re surrounded by a crowd of very happy well-wishers. What else can it be?”  
          Privately, Harry wondered if Holly was also more sensitive to outside emotions than before but decided to not mention the idea out loud. Holly had already emphatically stated “no tests” and if Sir’s harsh tactics had actually improved her empathic abilities, Holly would definitely _not_ want to know; she wouldn’t want anyone to know. Perhaps Holly already suspected something of that sort had happened which was why she refused to be tested.  
          “Oh,” replied Holly to his conclusion that she had had too much happiness. Then, “Is that a bad thing?”  
          “It doesn’t appear to be,” replied Harry thoughtfully.  
          “Then why can’t we stay longer?”  
          “Because we have to other things to do.”  
          “Home?” Holly brightened at the prospect.  
          “Not yet,” Harry told her. “We still have one stop to make…”


	18. Chapter 18

          Kenneth Kevala Perkins stepped out of the elevator. He turned and waited for Vernon to get out before starting down the hall to their room. They had finished dinner and were both ready to settle down and finish their homework. Vernon pulled out his key when they reached their door. It was reassuring to note the door was still closed and locked. That meant Montague and his friends hadn’t paid them a visit. Montague tended to leave the door open afterwards not bothering to hide his visits. Vernon stepped inside and froze. Kenny squeezed in past Vernon and looked to see the cause of Vernon’s sudden inactivity.  
          It was easy to spot. Planted plainly on Vernon’s bed was a small manila envelope. Vernon’s name was written clearly in cursive on it; Kenny did not recognize the hand-writing. Kenny had seen envelopes like that before, but not this year. They had come from Vernon’s sister Holly, supposedly delivered by Vernon’s cousin Harry Potter. But Holly was dead and Kenny knew that Vernon’s dad had severed all contact with the Potter family after she had died. There was no reason for such letters to come this year.  
          Vernon set down his bags, stepped slowly to his bed and picked up the envelope. He turned it over, broke the seal and removed the paper within. Kenny leaned over Vernon’s shoulder and read the short note that was written on the paper.

**Would you please meet me at the track field as soon as possible? It’s important. Thank you.**

**Cousin Harry**

          The red ink faded and vanished almost as soon as Kenny had finished reading the message. That explained why all Holly’s previous letters had always looked like blank pages whenever Montague got a hold of them. Kenny knew Vernon’s cousin was supposed to be a wizard so he guessed vanishing ink wasn’t too difficult a trick.  
          “You going?” asked Kenny while Vernon folded up the now blank paper and put it back in the envelope.  
          “Yeah,” replied Vernon. “Why not?”  
          “Your dad?”  
          “Dad never said I couldn’t meet with Cousin Harry,” Vernon informed Kenny. Of course, Kenny was fairly certain Vernon’s dad never knew that Cousin Harry had visited Vernon at Smeltings. “He said it’s important,” Vernon added, “so I expect it is…” He turned to leave the room.  
          “I’m going with you,” Kenny said abruptly while setting down his own bags.  
          Vernon stopped. “He didn’t ask you along,” Vernon informed Kenny bluntly.  
          “He didn’t say not to either,” reminded Kenny. “I don’t fancy waiting around here to find out what happened.”  
          Vernon shrugged. “If you insist.” Kenny suspected Vernon was glad for the company though he would never admit it. It was dark outside and Kenny knew Vernon didn’t like the dark, or being alone, for that matter. Kenny relocked the door and followed Vernon back down the hall.  
          “What do you think he wants?” questioned Kenny after they had left the dorms and were well on the way to the field.  
          “I don’t know,” replied Vernon. “Probably something about Holly…” he added glumly as they walked. It wasn’t totally dark outside; Smeltings had several streetlights that stayed on all night located strategically around the campus, but not as many were left on near the field when there wasn’t a game…  
          “Maybe it’s about that cousin you spent a day with, Alan or Albert or whatever his name was,” suggested Kenny trying to take Vernon’s mind off Holly.  
          “Albus,” corrected Vernon automatically. “But I can’t imagine anything about him being “important…”  
          “Nor, Holly, not now anyway,” commented Kenny logically. “Perhaps he wrote that just to get you to come…”  
          “Maybe,” admitted Vernon grudgingly. “I’ll find out soon enough…” Kenny looked up and saw the entrance to the track field just ahead. The gate should have been closed and locked but it wasn’t. It swung open invitingly at their arrival.  
          Vernon walked through without hesitation; Kenny followed cautiously. Going into locked areas didn’t seem to bother Vernon as much as it did Kenny; but then, Kenny knew Vernon had done that sort of stuff when he had first come to Smeltings. Kenny did his best to act calm when the gate swung closed after them shutting with a loud sounding clunk.  
          Looking up, Kenny saw someone moving towards them coming out of the shadows. He was tall and looked rather ordinary. That was Vernon’s cousin Harry. Kenny had seen him from a distance once before.  
          “Hello Vernon,” he began quietly when he had gotten close enough to be heard. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”  
          “You said it was important,” replied Vernon omitting formal greetings.  
          “It is,” said Mr. Potter. He looked from Vernon to Kenny and then back again at Vernon expectantly.  
          “This is my friend Kenny,” said Vernon firmly. “He’s with me. Kenny, this is my cousin Harry, Harry Potter.”  
          “Uh, nice to meet you,” said Kenny politely. He held out his hand uncertainly. Did one shake hands with a wizard? Should he even admit knowing Mr. Potter was supposed to be a wizard?  
          “And you,” said Mr. Potter taking Kenny’s offered hand and shaking it briefly. Mr. Potter released the hand and then directed his attention towards Vernon. “Someone very much wants to see you …” He nodded back towards the shadows from where he had come.  
          Kenny looked and saw two more figures emerge from the blackness, one taller than the other. Both wore long robes. The smaller person wore a full length robe that was hooded and carried a basket of some sort. The two walked forward into the light and came to a stop in front of Vernon. The taller person was a man with curly hair. The smaller one handed the basket to the man, raised his arms and pulled back the hood revealing that he, was actually a _she,_ with what seemed to be lots of long braided, beaded hair. “Hello, Vernon,” she said.  
          “Holly?” said Vernon with disbelief. “Is that you?”  
          “It’s me, Vernon,” she said nodding and held out her arms. Vernon kind of stumbled into her arms and the two melded together in an embrace.

          “Hello there, my name is Mr. Pilkington, Daniel Pilkington,” said the curly haired man to Kenny while thrusting out his free hand to shake. “I’m a friend of the family and, ah, other things,” he continued while moving his body in front of Kenny so it obscured Kenny’s view of Vernon and Holly.  
          “Uh, oh,” said Kenny blankly not really listening to the man. Mr. Pilkington had stepped so close that Kenny’s personal space was invaded and Kenny automatically backed up several steps to a more comfortable distance. Mr. Pilkington reached down, grabbed the Kenny’s hand and started shaking it violently up and down repeatedly.    
          “I believe I heard young Mr. Wycliff say your name was Kenny, but I don’t think I caught the last name,” added Mr. Pilkington while still shaking the hand.  
         “It’s, ah, Perkins, Kenneth Perkins,” said Kenny forcing his attention on Mr. Pilkington.  
          “Ah,” said Mr. Pilkington in a knowing sound of voice. He released Kenny’s hand and stared into Kenny’s face. “That’s a fine name. Is it by any chance British?”  
          “Huh?” said Kenny thoroughly disconcerted. “Ah, I don’t know—”  
          “Excellent!” said Mr. Pilkington cheerfully. “That means you’re probably not one of those blueblood snobs who refuse to talk to you unless you can trace your pedigree back several generations. You’re not are you?” he asked stepping ever closer to Kenny.  
          “Uh, no?” answered Kenny backing up some more.  
          “Good!” said Mr. Pilkington with satisfaction. “People like that are so stuffy and hard to hold a decent conversation with… Don’t you agree?”   Mr. Pilkington took another step closer.  
         “Uh, yes, wait a minute! Have you cast some sort of spell on me?” Kenny abruptly demanded while backing up yet again. He had suddenly realized that Mr. Potter was nowhere to be seen and he was now several meters away from Vernon talking to a strange guy on subjects that had absolutely no bearing on the situation… Odd to say the least.  
          “Spell?” questioned Mr. Pilkington, “Of course not!” he said sounding indignant. “Why would I ever do something like that?” he demanded while stepping even closer to Kenny forcing him to again take a step backwards. “Especially when moving in close and asking perfectly inane questions are so much easier and have the desired effect. I don’t really care what you say, Mr. Perkins,” continued Mr. Pilkington in a more serious tone without waiting for an answer, “I’m just trying to distract you so that brother and sister can have a bit of privacy. You don’t mind, do you?” he added.  
          “Oh, uh, no,” said Kenny not sure how to respond. “I guess not… She’s really alive?” he questioned suddenly while looking over Mr. Pilkington’s shoulder at the two who appeared in deep conversation.  
          “She is,” confirmed Mr. Pilkington. “But I was under the impression that Mr. Wycliff did not share personal information with others at Smeltings…”  
          “He told me about Holly!” retorted Kenny annoyed at the suggestion and wondering what made Mr. Pilkington think that.  
          “Ah, then you must be a trusted friend,” said Mr. Pilkington approvingly. “That’s good. Then he was very wise to bring you al—”  
          “What happened?” interrupted Kenny determined to not be distracted by Mr. Pilkington again.  
          “Happened?”  
          “Yeah, I mean, how come she’s not, uh, dead?”  
          “It was a very clever kidnapping disguised as an accidental death so no one would bother to look for Holly afterwards,” answered Mr. Pilkington. “Ingenious, actually. The fact that she was alive was only determined recently. Miss Wycliff was rescued just yesterday…”  
          “Is she O.K.?” asked Kenny with concern looking past Mr. Pilkington at Vernon and Holly who seemed to be still in deep conversation.  
          Mr. Pilkington looked at the two first before answering. “Physically, she’s fine,” he answered. “Mentally? Only time will tell. One doesn’t recover from such an experience overnight. Unfortunately, they were unable to capture the kidnapper,” he added and pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Have you seen this person around?”  
          Kenny unfolded the paper. “He calls himself “Sir,” continued Mr. Pilkington informatively while Kenny looked at the stern face and blonde hair, “though I doubt that is his real name...”  
          “No, I’ve never seen him before,” Kenny replied and handed the paper back to Mr. Pilkington. “Pity,” said Mr. Pilkington in a sorrowful sounding voice. “It seems “Sir” said some things to lead Miss Wycliff to believe that he was familiar with this neighborhood…”  
          “Meow?” The soft cry made Kenny jump in surprise. He looked down in the basket Mr. Pilkington held. Inside, he saw a pair of glowing eyes looking up at him.  
          “There, there,” Mr. Pilkington crooned to the creature which Kenny decided must be some dark coloured cat, “she’ll be back soon. Miss Wycliff’s cat, Sasha,” explained Mr. Pilkington. “I’m afraid she suffered severe injuries in the explosion but is doing much better now that her mistress has returned. Ah,” he announced, “look, here she comes now.” Kenny looked up and saw both Vernon and Holly walking towards them.  
          “Thank you for watching her,” said Holly taking the basket from Mr. Pilkington. She put her free hand into the basket and began to stroke the cat. A loud purr immediately started up.  
          “My pleasure,” replied Mr. Pilkington.  
          “Uh, Holly, this is my friend Kenny,” began Vernon. “Kenny, my sister Holly, recently returned from the, uh dead…” he added cheerfully.  
          “Pleased to meet you,” said Kenny gravely while holding out his hand to shake.  
          Holly removed her hand from the basket and took the offered hand in hers. “And I you,” she said. Her beaded braids swung gently back and forth as she spoke. “I’ve heard so much about you that it is nice to put a face with the name.” She released Kenny’s hand, took the unfolded paper from Mr. Pilkington and gave it to Vernon.  
          “That’s Sir!” Holly told Vernon. “He’s totally cold and utterly _ruthless!”_ she continued. “If he ever got his hands on you I don’t know what I’d do!” she added worriedly. Kenny could hear the fear in her voice. “Promise me you’ll be careful!” Holly added as she and Vernon moved back towards Kenny.  
          “Of course!” assured Vernon. “I’ll be careful.  
          “Sir apparently made some threats against you that Holly takes very seriously,” murmured Mr. Pilkington.  
          “Sir said he’d do all sorts of horrible things to you if I, uh, if I made him angry,” Holly added. “He’s probably very angry that I’ve escaped! You’ve got to be careful, Vernon! You will, won’t you?” she exclaimed anxiously. “Please! Don’t trust anyone! Even if you think you know the person! It could be Sir in disguise! And you!” she added looking at Kenny. “Don’t let Vernon wander off unexpectedly! Please! Restrain him if you have to!” Holly was dead serious and there was an edge of panic in her voice.  
          “Let us know if you see anything suspicious,” Mr. Potter added in a calmer tone. He reappeared from the nearby shadows and had walked over to the group while Holly was talking. He held a thin bumpy stick _(wand?)_ in his hand. “Even if it turns out to be nothing I’d rather you be safe than sorry…”  
          “By sending a note through the post to a friend who will forward it to you?” Kenny asked bluntly. He knew that was the only way Vernon had to contact Holly while she was at school. “The message should get to you real fast that way…”  
          “That does seem to be a bit convoluted,” agreed Mr. Potter thoughtfully. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card and handed it to Kenny. In the dim light Kenny could make out the words: **Need a ride? Just call Stan the Cabman!** A phone number followed. “Stan’s a friend,” Mr. Potter explained aloud. “Ask for me, tell him what’s up and he’ll pass the word on immediately.” Kenny put the card in his pocket.  
          Mr. Pilkington reached into his pocket and pulled out a similar sized card and handed it to Vernon. “You both should have one,” he told Vernon. “Just in case…”  
          “It’s getting late, Holly,” said Mr. Potter. “I think it’s time we should be leaving.”  
          “Leaving?” questioned Vernon. “Where?”  
          “Home!” Holly sang out with a lightness to her voice that could only result from pure happiness. “Nice to have met you!” she told Kenny and then she reached out and hugged Vernon again. “It’s so good to be back!” Kenny heard her whisper. “Be careful! See you later!” She stepped over to Mr. Potter and looked expectantly at Mr. Pilkington.  
          “Ah, this is where I take a tour of Smeltings,” he told the group while taking off his robe. “Would you two lads be kind enough to show me around a bit?” he asked Vernon as he folded his robe and hung it over his arm.  
          “Me?” Vernon sputtered. “At this hour? But it’s dark out!”  
          “Exactly!” said Mr. Pilkington cheerfully. “Things always look so much more interesting in the nighttime…”  
          “I said I’d be careful,” Vernon suddenly said angrily while directing his attention at Holly. “I don’t need a bodyguard!”  
          “Of course you don’t!” agreed Mr. Pilkington smoothly before Holly could reply. “I’m just looking for a short tour of Smeltings, though of course, now that you mention it, a quick peek at your dorm room would be most interesting. I’ve never been in one before…” He stepped up close to Vernon causing him to back up a little. “This isn’t as much for your sake as it is for _hers!_ ” he added in a low voice. He nodded at Holly who stood next to Mr. Potter with a worried expression on her face. “Despite how well she looks, Holly has had a really rough time. She’s dead certain you’re in danger, Vernon, and if a simple walk with you back to the dorms will help her sleep peacefully tonight then that’s what I intend to do. I thought an informal tour would be much more pleasant and interesting than me just shadowing the two of you on your way back…” Kenny saw a steely glint in Mr. Pilkington’s eye and realized that was exactly what Mr. Pilkington would do if Vernon didn’t accept his company.  
          Vernon apparently realized it too. He gulped visibly, looked over at Holly and said, “Uh, would you like a tour of the campus, Mr. ah, uh,”  
          “Pilkington, Daniel Pilkington,” filled in Mr. Pilkington easily. He was clearly not disturbed that Vernon didn’t know his name. “Yes, I should like that very much.” He turned to Holly and Mr. Potter, gave them a cheerful wave and then, keeping his arm extended, walked towards the exit effectively herding Vernon and Kenny along with him. “Now, I know this is the track field,” he said not giving either a chance to stop. “But what’s on the other side? Mr. Potter seemed familiar with the area,” he continued in a non-stop patter not really waiting for an answer. “Would that be because he’s been here before? Would one of you gentlemen happen to be a runner?” He stopped briefly and opened the gate.  
          “I am,” said Kenny as they walked through the exit, “and you’re trying to distract us again!” he accused.  
          “Of course I am,” replied Mr. Pilkington cheerfully without a hint of guilt in his voice. He closed the gate locking it behind him. “You both no doubt have numerous questions, none of which can or should be answered here nor should we appear to be skulking about your campus or up to no good to any observer so I am asking perfectly normal things you _can_ answer without fear of being overheard. Now, what is that extraordinarily large building over there?” he asked while pointing.  
          “That’s the gym,” answered Vernon. With Mr. Pilkington’s encouragement, Vernon pointed out the other structures giving their names and usages. As they walked, Mr. Pilkington also peppered the boys with questions about classes and professors.  
          “You don’t really care about any of this do you?” questioned Kenny remembering how the man had admitted to asking inane questions earlier.  
          “But of course I do,” countered Mr. Pilkington cheerfully. “It’s knowledge! You never know when some piece of information will come in useful… Now, who is that person?”  
          Kenny looked up and saw a familiar tall form striding purposefully in their general direction. “That’s Mr. Ballytwirk, the school librarian,” he answered.  
          “And the building beyond him?”  
          “That’s our dorm hall,” Kenny replied.  
          “Wycliff!” came a sudden voice. Kenny looked again at Mr. Ballytwirk. He had this angry expression on his face and was now walking directly towards them. “What are you doing?”  
          “I uh…”  
          “Giving me a tour of your fine campus,” interjected Mr. Pilkington smoothly.  
          “And who are you?” Mr. Ballytwirk demanded. Kenny had never seen Mr. Ballytwirk look so angry before.  
          “I’m Daniel Pilkington,” he replied calmly. “A friend of the family. And who might you be?”  
          Mr. Ballytwirk’s angry eyes suddenly narrowed and he studied Mr. Pilkington with interest. Abruptly he turned to Vernon. “He with you?” he asked Vernon suspiciously.  
          “Uh, yeah,” replied Vernon uncomfortably. “I guess so.”  
          “You _guess_ so?” Mr. Ballytwirk questioned sternly. “Are you _sure_ you know who he is, or did he just tell you he was a “friend” of the family to gain your trust?” Kenny stared in disbelief. Mr. Ballytwirk had practically called Vernon a liar!  
          Vernon realized it too. He stiffened. “Of course I know _who_ he is!” he told Mr. Ballytwirk, “and I can assure you that Mr. Pilkington is indeed a _friend_ of the family!”  
          Mr. Ballytwirk took a step backwards no doubt surprised by the force of Vernon’s words. His angry features suddenly relaxed. “Well,” Mr. Ballytwirk said in a more conciliatory tone. “If you’re certain…”  
          “I am!” Vernon told him firmly.  
          “Then your word is good enough for me. I’m Bryan Ballytwirk, the school librarian,” he announced in a more friendly voice. “Forgive me if I sounded rude and overly protective,” he said to Mr. Pilkington in an apologetic tone, “but there are a lot of unscrupulous people out there and we must be careful our lads do not fall in with the _wrong_ sort of crowd. They can be easily taken in by a pretty face and a good story.”  
          “Of course,” replied Mr. Pilkington easily. “One can never be too careful. It’s gratifying to know that the staff at Smeltings takes such fine care of its students.”  
          “We have a reputation to protect,” replied Mr. Ballytwirk proudly. “Have you known the Wycliffs long?” he inquired.  
          “Long enough,” replied Mr. Pilkington. “How long have you worked at Smeltings?”  
          “Longer than you have known Wycliff, I’d wager,” said Mr. Ballytwirk.  
          “Perhaps,” agreed Mr. Pilkington, “but I have found that it’s the _quality_ not the _quantity_ of the association that determines friendship. Don’t you agree?”  
          “A belief commonly held by _recent_ acquaintances,” replied Mr. Ballytwirk smoothly neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Will you be visiting long?”  
          “I haven’t decided,” answered Mr. Pilkington. “It depends on how long it takes to complete my business here.”  
          “So this is “business” not a social call?”  
          “I prefer conducting my business in the daytime,” replied Mr. Pilkington evasively, “and socialize in the evening. What brings you out at this hour?”  
          “Library business, of course,” replied Mr. Ballytwirk firmly. “I don’t have the luxury of getting all my work done within daylight hours. Speaking of which, I still have things to do so if you’ll excuse me, I shall be on my way. Good evening.”  
          “Good evening.” The three silently watched Mr. Ballytwirk move briskly away before resuming their own walk towards the dorm.  
          “Is Mr. Ballytwirk always so … aggressive towards visitors?” asked Mr. Pilkington curiously.  
          “I don’t know,” answered Vernon. “I’ve never had guests before.”  
          “Interesting.”  
          “What is?”  
          “Nothing. I’ve just never met a librarian so concerned with student affairs…”  
          “How many librarians do you know?” questioned Kenny.  
          “Not many,” Mr. Pilkington admitted, “and rarely outside the library…”  
          “Well, they don’t all just shelve books,” informed Kenny. “Mr. Ballytwirk helped us out last year…”  
          “Did he?”  
          “Yes,” and Kenny proceeded to tell Mr. Pilkington an abbreviated version of the trashcan incident with Montague. By the time he finished, they had entered their building and stepped into the elevator.  
          “So what is this Montague up to these days?” Mr. Pilkington asked conversationally while the elevator took them up to their floor.  
          “Not much,” answered Vernon. “He’s seeing this girl from Worchester and she’s taking up most of his spare time…” Of course, because Vanessa really wanted that recording, Montague had been using his spare time to trash their room more than once but that was not Mr. Pilkington’s business.  
          “That’s good to hear.”  
          Vernon drew out his key and turned the lock to their door. “My room,” he announced stepping inside. “It’s clearly empty but do you want to look anyway?” he added sarcastically.  
          “If I may,” answered Mr. Pilkington seriously.  
          Vernon stepped aside and Mr. Pilkington walked in. Kenny followed. Mr. Pilkington moved to the far wall, opened the closet door, briefly looked inside, checked under the beds and then glanced out the window before walking back to the entrance. “Satisfied?” demanded Vernon.  
          “Of course,” he replied. “Now I can assure Holly that you’re safe for tonight.”  
          “And tomorrow?”  
          “Tomorrow, I hope you honor your promise to your sister and be very, very, careful.” Mr. Pilkington removed the robe from his arm and placed it around his shoulders. “This is not a game,” he told Vernon. “We are not easily fooled; Holly’s alive, but _someone_ died in that explosion during the summer, someone who looked a lot like Holly. It was very good to meet you, Mr. Perkins. Have a nice evening.” With that, Mr. Pilkington exited Vernon’s room and started down the hall.  
          Vernon closed the door and locked it. Then he put the usual chair up against the knob securing it closed. They may be “safe” against mad wizards, but there was still Montague to think of.  
          “Pilkington’s kind of strange,” commented Kenny neutrally as he dug out his books. “Is he _really_ a family friend?” He propped himself comfortably on his bed.  
          “Sort of,” answered Vernon as he pulled out one of his books. “He’s Holly’s solicitor.”  
          “Solicitor?” questioned Kenny in disbelief. Mr. Pilkington looked nothing like what he imagined a solicitor to look—way too young for one thing.  
          “Yeah, Holly says he’s super smart.”  
          “Oh.” Kenny pulled out a pen and paper while he thought about that. “You know your sister doesn’t look anything like the photo you have posted on the wall…”  
          “No,” Vernon agreed while staring at the photo thoughtfully. “It’s kind of outdated.”  
          “In fact, I think she’s kind of cute,” Kenny added as an afterthought.  
          “Holly? She’s way too young to be “cute,” denied Vernon readily. “It’s got to be those beads you like!” he decided aloud. “Those are new! Dad’ll flip when he sees those beads!”  
           Kenny smiled as he started writing. “No doubt,” he agreed easily. He didn’t think it was the beads that made Holly “cute” but kept his thoughts to himself. Big brothers were always the last to realize when little sisters had “grown” up.

**********

          Holly Wycliff held Sasha up close while the black limousine glided silently away. She focused on Sasha’s reassuring purr and looked at the familiar house with the porch light shining welcomingly in front of her. On one arm dangled a small black and gold drawstring bag—a gift from someone in Diagon Alley. It had an extendable charm on it and contained within her wand and the other gifts she had received from Diagon alley. “I’m scared,” Holly suddenly whispered to Cousin Harry.  
          “What?” he questioned. “Of what? Certainly not your parents; they love you and will do whatever it takes to help you.”  
          “I know,” Holly whispered. “But, Sir?”  
          “You’re safe here,” Cousin Harry assured her. “Safer than if you were at Hogwarts. You’re unplottable as long as you keep away from the wizard world, remember? Sir can never find you.”  
          “I know, but,” Holly stopped. It was difficult to explain. Her world had been violently turned upside down and the last two days had been filled with wildly swinging emotions ranging from suicidal depression to absolute euphoria. Throughout almost all of it, Cousin Harry had been by her side, his calm emotions a solid anchor that kept her steady. Cousin Harry wouldn’t be there any more and Holly was afraid of what would happen.  
          “You’ve been through a terrible experience, Holly,” Cousin Harry told her. “You need time to rest and recover, free of any pressure. You’ll have that at home. Figure out your priorities, what you want to do with your life. _You,_ not Sir.”  
          “Hogwarts?”  
          “That’s between you and your parents,” he told her. “I’ll be back next week to take you to Healer Winonan. We can talk then if you need it.”  
          “I guess,” Holly replied uncertainly. She was still afraid, but it would be only a week. Surely she could stand that…  
          “Oh, I have a gift for you.”  
          “You do?”  
          “Yes. Whatever you and your parents decide, I don’t want you to feel isolated from us,” Cousin Harry told her as he reached into his pocket and handed Holly a small thin book. She held the book out so she could read the cover by porch light. It appeared to be a tiny pink journal decorated with a spray of flowers made of blue or lavender glass crystal chips. “Hermione made it for you,” Cousin Harry told her. “It’s like the one your mum has, uh, had. Ours kind of fell apart,” he confessed, “so I figure the one your mum had, well, I’m not sure what happened to it, but I can guess. They were pretty upset when I told them about you… I’m so sorry, Holly,” Cousin Harry added in a rush. “I wish I had thought to insist on seeing your Healthstone before I left. Perhaps we could have gotten you out sooner…” Cousin Harry’s voice fell off and Holly could sense his intense guilt and regret.   
          “But you did insist on seeing it,” Holly corrected. “Mum told me so.”  
          “I should have insisted sooner; should have never left your parents the first time without seeing it…”  
          “I don’t blame you for that,” Holly told him softly. “Everyone said it was a horrible explosion; very convincing. My parents had my Healthstone the whole time and they never looked at it, not once! How could I expect more of you?” Holly shifted Sasha to under her arm and used her free fingers to rub her chin and ears. Sasha renewed her purring with pleasure. “I knew they might not ever look at it,” Holly whispered suddenly. “Never know I was still alive… But I kept hoping…” Holly continued to rub Sasha in an effort to drown her emotional memories in Sasha’s joy. “Why, uh, why did you insist?” Holly asked hesitantly while she focused on Sasha’s contented purr, made Sasha’s contentment her own.  
          “You painted a portrait with Mr. Eggleton,” Cousin Harry answered softly. “A very special portrait…” Holly closed her eyes remembering the details of that portrait—the eyes, the robe, the grim determination… It was the same image she used to cast her patronus. “Your passbook survived the explosion,” Cousin added quietly, “but there wasn’t anything of the portrait, not even scraps. The Hufflepuffs, they knew you’d never be without that portrait…”  
          “He saved me again,” Holly whispered the tears began to stream down her face. “Even now, he looks after me…” She mourned again the loss of the Headmaster.  
          “Yes,” Cousin Harry agreed solemnly. “I guess he does.”  
          Holly sniffed and used her free arm to wipe the tears off her face. When she had finished, Holly looked down at the journal in her hand and fingered its bumpy surface. “Thank you for this,” she told Cousin Harry sincerely. “I feel better having it.”  
          “I’ll give the match to this to whomever you wish,” Cousin Harry told her, “or it can stay at our house. The choice is yours.”  
_Choice!_ Unbidden came to mind the awful choice Sir had last given her, pain or no pain with the certain knowledge of further injuries… Holly rejoiced it the simplicity and freedom of this choice. Becky? Mark? Holly quickly discarded them. Somehow she didn’t think she could write to either. Their world and hers had diverged drastically because of the explosion… “Lily,” Holly decided aloud. “I need to thank her for taking care of Sasha and, um, I don’t think Albus or James really like the colour pink…”  
          Cousin Harry laughed. “Lily it is,” he told her. “I’ll see that she gets it.” He turned and looked at the house in front of them. “They’re waiting for you,” he reminded. “Are you up for it now?”  
          “I think so,” said Holly and the two of them walked forward, up the steps, stopping at the front door.

**********

          Harry Potter raised his hand, formed a fist and knocked lightly on the front door. He remembered the last time he had done this. Things had changed so much since then. The door swung open on the first tap; clearly they had been waiting for their arrival, perhaps knew they had been standing outside on the sidewalk.  
          Holly moved swiftly into the welcoming arms of her parents.  
          “Well, how is she?” asked Dudley gruffly.  
          “She seems to be fine,” Harry answered. _“For the most part.”_ Harry worried about Holly’s inability to block but that was nothing that would concern Dudley. Besides, Holly had Sasha. “The doctor wants to see her in a week for a follow-up, though. I’ll be back at 8:00am for that,” he told them picking out a time at random. Appointments weren’t necessary with Healer Winonan; any time they showed would be fine with him… “Good night,” he added and turned to leave. It had been a long day and Ginny was waiting… Suddenly Harry felt a pair of arms wrap around him.  
          “Good-bye,” whispered Holly. “And thank you so much.”  
          Harry smiled. “Glad I could help,” he told her while hugging back. He released Holly and again started to leave.  
          “Harry?” Dudley’s voice stopped Harry mid-turn. He looked back at Dudley, waiting. “I’m uh, sorry for all the things I said to you,” he began hesitantly.  
          “There’s no need to apologize,” Harry replied softly. “You were upset.”  
          “Yeah,” agreed Dudley, “but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you! It wasn’t your fault!”  
_“Wasn’t it?”_ thought Harry. Everyone knew portkeys shouldn’t blow up. He shouldn’t have been taken in by Sir’s trickery, should have realized Holly could still be alive!  
          “You brought my baby back home safe and sound!”  
_“It should have been sooner…”_ Harry thought with regret. Aloud he said, “I’m glad I could.” He turned.  
          “Mr. Potter,” called out Laurel suddenly. Harry stopped again. “You’re picking up Holly at eight to see the doctor. How about breakfast at seven before you go?”  
_Breakfast!!!_ Harry shuttered. He could think of few things he wanted to do less than share a meal with Dudley! Looking back, he could see an expression of panic on Dudley’s face that mirrored his own personal feelings. But saying “no” didn’t build bridges and Ginny would never give him peace if he refused. On the other hand Harry couldn’t quite bring himself to say, “yes” either.  
          “If you wish,” he finally managed to reply.  
          “I wish,” Laurel said firmly. “No, _we_ wish.” Dudley’s face was less than agreeable but he didn’t argue.  
          “Seven,” Harry reluctantly agreed. He turned and hurried down the sidewalk before Laurel could suggest something worse—like inviting Ginny…

**********

          Holly smiled as she returned to the security of her home and the warm embrace of her parents. Dad and Cousin Harry were back to normal. Breakfast with the two of them at the same time? Not a good combination. Unfortunately, mum was pretty happy about the idea so it couldn’t be cancelled. Holly wondered if there was a way to avoid the meal…  
          “You hungry?” questioned mum anxiously. “I know it’s late and you’ve probably had dinner,” she added without waiting for an answer, “but I’ve baked a cake to celebrate your return… It’s chocolate…” she added enticingly.  
_Chocolate!_ “Real Chocolate?” Holly questioned excitedly. Mum nodded. “With frosting and ice cream?”  
          “Of course!” she answered smiling.  
          Holly’s mouth started watering. “I would love some!” Holly answered happily. She could start on Healer’s Winonan’s diet tomorrow... Or the next day--as Holly suddenly remembered that beef and kidney pie still in her bag... Holly slipped her arms around both mum and dad and the three of them headed towards the kitchen closing the front door behind them. It was good to be home.

 

 

**End of Part I**


	19. Chapter 19

**PART II**

           “Welcome back!” greeted James. “How are you doing?”  
          “Fine,” answered Holly Wycliff. She was sitting in the library copying notes. It took exactly two days before Holly knew she had to return to Hogwarts. Holly had just spent a blissful hour of playing the piano at her neighbor’s house when Mrs. Rogers had innocently asked why Holly “wasn’t in school?” Holly wouldn’t lie to Mrs. Rogers and couldn’t really explain otherwise. Holly stopped playing the piano after that.  
          So Holly worked out daily at the Tang Soo Do dojo. (They didn’t mind an ailing cat laying quietly in an open basket while Holly practiced…) She reviewed all her Tang Soo Do skills, tested, skipped several colours and got promoted to a purple belt. But Holly was acutely aware that her knowledge of the martial arts hadn’t helped her escape from Sir. She _had_ to learn to Apparate and that could only be done at Hogwarts.  
          Even so, Holly might have considered attending a Muggle school and tried living a life of obscurity trusting that Sir could never find her while she remained “unplottable,” except she still couldn’t block and the prospect of facing a classroom full of emotions, even Muggle ones, without Sasha’s help was unbearable. But Holly didn’t tell her parents that. Only Cousin Harry knew she couldn’t block. Holly told her parents she wouldn’t be without Sasha, wouldn’t do that to her! That was true also.  
          With Holly’s tender care, (and Lily’s suggestions and potions) Sasha had gone from a wobbly listless lump of fur to a clingy, but happy cat with few physical scars to show from the explosion. Without Holly by her side, however, Sasha was a mental wreck. Her sweet loving nature turned to sheer panic. Holly couldn’t just carry Sasha around hidden in a bag as she had done in previous years; Sasha refused to let herself be closed up, hidden from outside view. Cousin Harry told her that the charred remains of mum’s bag had been zippered. Holly guessed Sasha feared another explosion should she be confined like that again.  
          No school but Hogwarts would let Sasha travel openly with Holly from class to class and then only with a medical directive. So Holly told Healer Winonan she had to have Sasha by her side for Sasha’s sake and insisted he write a note accordingly. Perhaps in time Sasha would again relax without Holly’s physical presence, but until she did, Holly wouldn’t force Sasha to stay elsewhere while she attended class.  
          It took another three weeks for Holly to convince her parents to let her return to Hogwarts. The deciding factor was, of course, Holly’s grandparents. They had called and announced an imminent visit. Dad hadn’t told them about Hogwarts or what had happened during the summer… They were sure to ask the same question Mrs. Rogers had and would not take a stammered, “Something came up…” for an answer.  
          James took the empty chair next to Holly. “Lookit,” he began hesitantly, “I know dad said not to bother you about that Empath stuff but I’ve a question to ask. It’s important…” Holly looked at him expectantly. “Can you still do it?”  
          “Huh?”  
          “Can you still, you know, feel other person’s emotions?”  
          “Y-yes,” Holly admitted reluctantly. She looked down self-consciously into her book, reached into her lap for Sasha and nervously began to stroke the cat’s body eliciting a rumble of contentment from Sasha.  
          “Can you feel me?”  
          “Huh?”  
          “Can you feel me—you know, sense my emotions?”  
          Holly looked up at James. It was such an odd question yet he was so serious about it. “Of course!” she told him. The emotions were comfortably muted because of Sasha, but they were still obviously there…  
          “Oh. Thanks.”  
          James looked and felt so crestfallen by the answer that Holly had to ask, “Why?”  
          James hesitated a long time before speaking. “I’ve, uh, been taking Occlumency,” he finally confessed. “I know you don’t sense people who are doing Occlumency. I wasn’t so good at it last year because of, you know, the troubles with Albus, but after that was settled, I worked on the Occlumency all summer; I thought I had it figured out and then I took the test…”  
          “You failed?” guessed Holly.  
          “Yeah,” James admitted. “I was hoping that maybe the testers were wrong…”  
          “They probably weren’t,” Holly told him regretfully. “You’ll get it eventually,” she assured him.  
          “Yeah,” agreed James but his emotions weren’t nearly as confident. “I just don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t…”  
          “What do you mean?”  
          James looked around to see if anyone else was near. “Well, I guess I can tell you since you’re family,” he confided, “but you’ve got to promise to not tell anyone else.”  
          “I promise.”  
          “I was going to surprise dad and become an auror.”  
          “An auror?”  
          “Yeah, that’s what he always wanted to be but I can’t become one unless I pass the Occlumency test.”  
          “That stinks.”  
          “Yeah. I’ve done everything the books says to do and anything else I can think of and I don’t know what else to do.”  
          “Try music,” Holly suggested.  
          “Music?”  
          “Yeah. It was the only thing that kept me going when I was with, uh, you know,” Holly stopped. It was still too hard for her to talk about her experiences with Sir. She tried again, “I mean I don’t think he ever got into my mind… but I don’t really know, uh, for sure…”  
          “Music?”  
          “Yeah.” Holly was grateful James didn’t persist in trying to learn the details.  
          “Well, I’ll talk to Professor Flitwick and try that too. Thanks.”  
          “Any time. I hope it helps.”  
          “Me too.”

**********

          “Hey, Holly,” asked Albus, “have you a minute?”  
          Holly looked up at Albus. “Sure,” she told him. “I’ve some time. Just a sec.” She turned to tell Becky and Mark to “go on ahead,” but noticed they were already leaving the classroom without her. Holly sighed. Old habits died hard, hers, that was. A trip in and out of Diagon Alley without a single “flashback” experience and three weeks at home without any as well had enabled Holly to persuade Healer Winonan to lift her medical restrictions at Hogwarts. Holly no longer had to travel with someone else while at Hogwarts. That was a good thing as Holly was pretty sure no one at Hogwarts wanted to travel with her! At least none of the Hufflepuffs did.  
          Holly had received a hero’s welcome when she stepped into the great Hall Saturday night. Later that evening the Hufflepuffs held a private celebratory party in honor of her return to school. Wizard Ercwlff had donated several cases of Sabois to help the Hufflepuffs celebrate. That’s when things went terribly wrong. Holly had been offered some Sabois. Remembering how awful it had tasted at the hospital, Holly had politely said, “No, thank you.” No one said anything, but all the Hufflepuffs seemed to “chill” after that. It was nothing Holly could put her finger on, but she sensed an immediate difference. Still polite, they were distant somehow, lacking warmth and emotional sincerity. Somehow that simple refusal had changed everything.  
          Though excused from turning in earlier assignments, Holly still needed to learn the content of the lessons she had missed. Some of the knowledge was essential in completing more recent assignments. Holly asked about getting a tutor to help her out but no one seemed available… After repeated requests, Holly finally got class notes from Mark (taken collectively by Hugh Douglass, Mickey O’Toole, and Julie Ross.) Holly’s efforts to obtain more detailed explanations were received with loud exasperated sighs and signs of obvious impatience.  
          Holly asked Lynette if she wanted tutoring…Lynette had been Holly’s tutee for three years. But Susan had become Lynette’s tutor in Holly’s absence. Lynette rolled her eyes at Holly’s tutorial suggestion and said she thought it would be “rude” to switch tutors at this late date. Holly knew Lynette was lying but didn’t push the issue. She couldn’t tutor someone who didn’t want her help. Several groups of third and fourth years took off for Hogsmeade on Sunday. No one invited Holly along. Well, Becky and Mark did, but they made it clear the Hogshead would not be on their list of stops as it did not carry Sabois, so Holly declined the offer. They didn’t say it, but their relief at her refusal came through loud and clear. The remaining students took off rapidly with their own pursuits leaving Holly alone in the dorm. While the Hufflepuffs sat “next” to Holly at mealtime at the Hufflepuff table, no one actually sat “with” her; the conversation flowed all around Holly without involving her in the least.  
          Holly asked Becky if she wanted to go with her to the Room of Requirement to play the organ. Becky flatly told Holly that she couldn’t because loud noises “bothered” her. Holly knew it was a lie, but didn’t push not wanting to hear the real reason why Becky didn’t want to come. Mark said he had a lot of studying to do and was glad he didn’t have to try to do it while listening to the organ. Also a lie, but one the rest of the Hufflepuffs in the dorm silently agreed with. Somehow the thought of playing the organ alone after that had lost all its appeal. By Monday, Holly felt almost as emotionally alone as she had been with Sir.  
          Holly slipped Sasha off her lap and onto the floor and stood up. “So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked Albus while grabbing her bag.  
          “Um, I know you’ve just gotten back and stuff and you’re probably still settling in and getting used to things, but when you have the time, could you talk to Conner?”  
_Conner!_ “Conner?” Holly questioned aloud. “What do you mean?”  
          “Well, ah, you may not have noticed it but he’s not quite right,” replied Albus hesitantly.  
          “What do you mean?” Holly hadn’t seen Conner during meals in the great Hall, but she wasn’t looking for him; there were too many emotions and she was busy with Sasha trying to block. She knew he had attended class that morning and had seen his tall form pass by quickly. But with all the other students, Holly had focused totally on Sasha’s purr and tried to block not seek out emotions. Privately, Holly had been afraid to face Conner and relieved when she hadn’t been directly confronted by his emotional presence.  
          “Well, he’s just not right,” began Albus, “and he hasn’t been since school started. I never see him around except for meals and class and when I do... Well, he’s thinner than I remember. Doesn’t eat much; keeps his distance; don’t think he sleeps much either, ‘cause he’s so pale and thin. I’ve seen Conner come out the infirmary a couple of times. I asked him what was wrong, and he said it was “none of my business!” I guess it isn’t,” concluded Albus thoughtfully. “But I don’t know whose it is…” Albus’ voice kind of trailed off. Then he began again, “The thing is, Conner was always weird and all, but I kind of got used to him hanging around last year and, uh, he’s not all that bad not really, but he’s not right and I thought that maybe since you knew him too, maybe he’d talk to you…”  
          Holly could feel her face burn with shame. She had known something horrible had happened to Conner over the summer and when she had the chance, she hadn’t done a thing—hadn’t even made inquiries! Had she been too wrapped up in herself or too afraid to learn the details? Or both? Either way, Albus, who knew nothing of what had happened was asking for her help. Holly could hide from it no more.  
          “Um, where do I find him?” she asked as Conner was nowhere in sight.  
          “This way,” said Albus with visible relief and Holly followed Albus out of the potions classroom.  
          “You know where he hangs out?” questioned Holly. “You’ve been watching him?”  
          “The professors said to leave it alone, leave Conner alone,” replied Albus, “that it was none of my business, but after last year, yeah, I’ve been watching him.” Albus confessed without guilt. Holly thought swiftly. Obviously Conner had physically recovered from his experience, and she knew the culprit. Probably Conner did too. But was that knowledge enough? Clearly Albus didn’t think so.  
          “What does James think?” asked Holly.  
          “Um, I haven’t asked him,” admitted Albus without explaining further.  
          “Rose?”  
          “She said if the professors weren’t worried then I shouldn’t be either…”  
          “Taylor?” Holly stopped. “Where is he anyway?” she asked suddenly realizing that Albus usually hung out with Taylor and Taylor was nowhere to be seen.  
          “Um, we kind of got into an argument,” Albus confessed by way of explanation. “Rose too,” he added before Holly could ask. “And I don’t want to talk about it,” he added firmly.  
          Holly nodded. She understood; she didn’t want to talk about why Becky and Mark weren’t with her either.  
          “He’s up there!” Albus announced slowing his step.  
          Holly looked up. “The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom?” she asked recognizing their location.  
          “No, here,” said Albus coming to a stop outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts door but turning towards the huge painting depicting the Battle of Hogwarts on the other side. The only painting at Hogwarts that didn’t “move,” was actually a door that made the entrance for a memorial placed there to remember the victims of Lord Voldemort.  
          Albus pulled out his wand and spoke,

_“Sometimes you’ve got to think about more than your own safety!  Sometimes you’ve got to think about the greater good.”_

           The painting swung aside with a loud clatter revealing an opening behind.  
          “Go away!” commanded Conner as the two walked in. He was filled with fear and uncertainty.  
          “It’s me, Albus,” said Albus while the two continued to walk forward.  
          “Go away!” repeated Conner. The fear level dropped and became mixed with annoyance. Holly and Albus stopped just inside the entrance permitting the painting to close behind them. Several lit candles were placed strategically around the room providing illumination. Holly could easily see Conner with his wand pointed threateningly at them. Besides him was a stool and small table with a pile of books on the floor nearby. Holly could make out what appeared to be a blanket and pillow on the floor further away.  
          “Holly’s with me,” said Albus. “She wants to talk with you…”  
          A surge of betrayal, pain, anger and frustration seem to erupt from Conner. “I don’t want to talk to her!” Conner insisted. “Now, go away before I make you!” Holly wasn’t sure what Conner could do to “make them” but he was serious when he made the threat.  
          “I don’t particularly want to talk with you, either, Conner,” Holly admitted aloud, “but I think we should…”  
          “So, talk!” demanded Conner.  
          Talk. What to say? “Uh, how are you?” Holly asked tentatively. Not that she really needed an answer. Conner’s emotions were screaming out so loudly at her that she couldn’t ignore them even with Sasha.  
          “Fine. Now, go away!”  
          “That line won’t work with me and you know it,” Holly told him.  
          “Yeah, it’s none of your business!”  
          “Actually, I think it _is_ my business,” corrected Holly, “and you know that, too.” She felt sudden surprise from Albus. “Albus?” she added softly. “Could you leave us for a while?” Albus nodded and stepped back out of the room leaving Holly alone with Conner.

**********

          Holly turned back to Conner. His wand was still pointed threateningly towards her. “You know!” she said as a matter of fact. Only the knowledge that Holly had been involved with what had happened to him during the summer could cause such an array of emotions at the mention of her name.  
          “Yeah,” Conner admitted.  
          “They told you?”  
          “I knew before they said anything!” he told her. "Soon as I read that account in the _Prophet_ , I knew!” He spoke with such venom!  
          Holly took a deep breath. “I begged him,” she told Conner. “Begged him to not do it, not do anything, but he wouldn’t listen!”  
          “Yeah,” said Conner with open disbelief, “and was that before or after you gave him my name in the first place?”  
          “What?” sputtered Holly blankly.  
          “After you gave him my name!” accused Conner. “Did you tell him all about the people you knew in passing or did he give you a class list and say, “choose one for experimentation and you said, “How about Conner? He’s a nobody with a Muggle family; he won’t be missed if something happens to him!”  
          “What!” exclaimed Holly appalled.  
          “Or maybe Sir just told you he wanted to do “some _Imperius Curse_ experiments.” Conner continued in a nonstop rant, “and you said, “I know just the guy; he already has plenty of experience with the _Imperius Curse_ …”  
          “It wasn’t like that at all!” Holly denied. “He never asked and I never said a word about you or anyone; I swear!”  
          “Then how did he get my name?” demanded Conner. “Just how did he come to pick on me in the first place? All the wizards in Great Britain and he singles out me! It’s not like I hang out with the wizard crowd! Most of you wizard folk don’t even know I exist let alone my name or where I live! But Sir knew! He knew right where I lived, and what would hurt me the most! How else could he have found out? Who else could have told him?”  
           “I don’t even know where you live!” denied Holly vehemently. “I don’t know how he got your name, Conner, honest,” Holly added, “but it wasn’t me! I swear! I never gave him your name! Unless…” Holly paused.  
          “Unless what?”  
          “Maybe he got that stuff out of my head when I didn’t know it!” she suggested. “Or he did it and I don’t remember… You know, like with drugs and stuff,” Holly added using Muggle terms Conner would better understand. “But even if he did that, I still couldn’t have told where you live because I don’t know that—not even now!” Conner’s wand lowered a fraction. Uncertainty took over his emotions.  
          Holly knelt down and picked up Sasha. She buried her face in Sasha’s fur before speaking again. “But I did tell him about you,” she confessed in a whisper. “Everything.” Holly felt Conner’s anger return, saw his wand rising up again out of the corner of her eye. “The moment I recognized your emotions and knew you were just outside that wall. I told Sir everything he wanted to know. I d-did it because I knew what he would do to you if I didn’t…” she added explaining. Holly looked up at Conner. She could feel the tears stream down her face. “But he did it anyway! Not that,” Holly corrected, “not what he did to the others. He did worse, much worse, and I didn’t even know until he was done! He s-said he had point to make… ” Holly sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Conner, I couldn’t stop him, I tried but I couldn’t.”  
          Conner lowered his wand. “I think you should go, now, Holly,” he said quietly. The raging emotions had vanished, replaced by infinite weariness. “I’d like to be alone.” Holly sniffed and nodded. She backed up, opened the door and left.  

**********

          Albus sat leaned up against the wall just outside the Memorial. “What are you doing here?” asked Holly.  
          “Waiting for you,” Albus answered as he stood up.  
          “You didn’t have to,” exclaimed Holly. “I don’t have that medical directive any more.”  
          “I know,” he replied as they started down the hall. “It’s just that…” Albus began again. “Conner ran into Sir this summer didn’t he?”  
          Holly wiped the tears from her face. “Yes,” she admitted simply.  
          “How bad?” he questioned.  
          “Real bad,” Holly replied, “especially because it was so … personal…”  
          “That stinks.”  
          “Yeah.” They continued walking in silence and turned a corner. It was good having someone to walk with, someone to talk to, or not. “You know,” mused Holly. “Conner doesn’t have any family at Hogwarts. He’s got no support. No wonder he’s so paranoid…”  
          “He’ll have support now,” said Albus grimly, “whether he wants it or not.”  
          “He also needs a way to stop the attacks,” added Holly thoughtfully. “Sir used the _Imperius Curse_ on Conner,” she told Albus, “and he was positively beastly! You were able to throw off that spell last spring,” Holly reminded Albus suddenly. “Perhaps you could show Conner how…”  
          “I don’t know if I could do it alone,” replied Albus thoughtfully. “Dad helped, a lot.”  
          “Write your dad and ask him,” insisted Holly eagerly. “You wouldn’t have to explain anything… He already knows about Conner. I’m sure he’ll agree…” They continued walking until they reached the stairs. “Down or up?” questioned Albus.  
          “Up, I think,” Holly replied. “Mandatory follow-up visit to the infirmary, if you don’t mind.”  
          “I don’t,” replied Albus affably. “I don’t have any other plans…”  
_“Just wait until he sees her…_ ” Pettigrew squeaked in happy anticipation as Holly mounted the steps.  
          “Not now,” Holly told her mind without annoyance.  
          “Huh?” asked Albus.  
          Holly started, not realizing she had spoken aloud. “Just Pettigrew,” she told him as the annoying voice dropped to a reassuring soft buzz. Pettigrew had saved her more than once; she never wanted to loose him, not totally. “Nothing to worry about. You know, Conner said something I hadn’t thought of before,” she added changing the subject.  
          “What?”  
          “Do you know where Conner lives?”  
          Albus shrugged. “No. Unless it’s Japan,” he added lightly making reference to Conner’s love of Manga.  
          “Sir knew,” Holly told him.  
          “He did? Yeah, I guess he must have…” mused Albus. “That’s odd.”  
          “Sir also knew about Vernon, too,” Holly told him. “And Smeltings.”  
          “He did? How did he learn about Smeltings? Did you tell him?”  
          “Not knowingly,” replied Holly. “And I certainly didn’t tell him about where Conner lived because I didn’t know…”  
          “So how did he learn? You know, this could be important. Not everybody has access to that kind of information. Perhaps we can trace Sir through his knowledge… McGonagall probably knows where Conner lives, as does whoever tracks the children of Muggle parents to determine whether they are worthy to attend Hogwarts. Did either of them tell someone else? We’ve got to ask…”  
          “Rita knew about Vernon,” added Holly thoughtfully. “She probably knows how to get student names and addresses. She was trying hard enough to get mine… I doubt this is her doing but maybe someone found out about Vernon from her…”  
          “Umbridge knew about Vernon,” stated Albus suddenly, “and you!”  
          “But she’s in prison…” argued Holly. They turned off the stairs and headed towards the infirmary. Holly abruptly stopped.  
          “What” asked Albus.  
          “Do prisoners in Azkaban get visitors?” she asked slowly.  
          “I expect so,” answered Albus. “Why”  
          “Umbridge knew Conner too!” Holly answered thoughtfully.  
          “She did?”  
          “Yeah, she put the _Imperius Curse_ on Conner and used him to fetch food while at Hogwarts,” replied Holly.  
          “I didn’t know that.”  
          “It wasn’t anything Conner wanted broadcasted around Hogwarts,” replied Holly, “but I remember Umbridge telling me later how she had conversations with Conner…”

**********

          Holly Wycliff woke with a start! Emotions! No!!!!! Then she felt a reassuring pressure of Sasha leaning against her side and realized her eyes were open—darkness, well, it wasn’t totally dark but it wasn’t gray either. That was the important part. Holly forced herself to relax. “Not that place!” she reminded herself and a hand sought Sasha’s silky warmth. Sasha immediately rumbled in a comforting reassuring purr. So whom was she sensing? Holly puzzled on that while she lay in the darkness. The emotion seemed familiar somehow and important but she couldn’t place it… It wasn’t one of the Hufflepuffs, which shouldn’t be possible; she was in her bed in the Hufflepuff dorm. And the emotion was faint, but close, very close. How could that be?  
          Suddenly Holly shot up and leaned over the foot of her bed. “Winky?” she asked as she moved, “What are y—” Holly stopped. She couldn’t see anything on the floor at the end of her bed! The emotions were gone too! Holly reached down cautiously until she could feel the cold rough stones of the floor. Nothing there. Holly leaned back. She was certain she had sensed Winky so what happened?  
          Holly had asked her parents, mum, actually, about the house elf that had rescued her. Mum had only said they’d asked Winky to “fetch” her and refused to discuss it further. Holly had gotten more information from Cousin Harry. He explained about the “Fetch” command and described Winky’s background concluding with a request that Holly help keep Winky as far away from her parents as possible...  
          Holly intended to ask the Hufflepuffs more about house elves, but dismissed the idea after the first night. Who better to tell her about house elves and Winky than Winky? “Winky, get back here!” Holly hissed. Winky reappeared in front of Holly with a loud _crack!_   Holly could just see the huge ears round nose and black eyes in the dim lighting. “Now,” asked Holly, “why are you here?”  
          “You ordered me to come, miss,” Winky answered in a high squeaky voice.  
          “I know that,” answered Holly impatiently, “but why were you _here,_ here?”  
          “You ordered me to come, miss,” answered Winky again.  
         “Take it outside, Holly!” muttered Becky loudly with annoyance. “We’re trying to sleep!” Holly heard and felt several other murmurs of assent. Holly looked guiltily about the room; their conversation had wakened several of the Hufflepuffs. “Come with me,” she told Winky. She got out of bed, grabbed a robe and headed for the Hufflepuff library. Winky followed silently.  
          Once in the library, Holly turned and looked at Winky. Winky still wore her mum’s pillowcase. It was no longer clean and white but dirty and gray. “Now,” began Holly again, “I know I ordered you to come to me, but why were you at my bed earlier, the first time?”  
          In response, Winky tucked her head down and started to sob. “No mistress, not clothes, not clothes!”    
          Holly stared at Winky in confusion. What had clothes to do with anything? Yet Winky was absolutely terrified and talking about clothes! “Calm down,” she told Winky, “I don’t know anything about clothes, I just want to know why you were at the foot of my bed. You were, weren’t you?”  
          Winky managed a nod between all her tears. “Not clothes!” she repeated in panic. “I go back to the others!” Winky vanished again with a _crack_ like a whip.  
          “Winky!” called Holly again. “Come back here right now!”  
          Another loud _crack_ sounded. Holly whirled around at the sound to face Winky who had reappeared behind her. “I want you to stay put until you answer some questions,” ordered Holly. “Do you understand?”  
          Winky tucked her head down and nodded her whole body heaving up and down. “Not clothes,” she whispered, “not clothes!”  
          “And I want you to start with the clothes…” continued Holly. “What is this about clothes?”  
          It took a bit of coaxing but Holly finally learned the importance of clothes to house elves. “And you don’t _want_ any clothes?” Holly asked in disbelief especially knowing now what it meant. Why hadn’t Cousin Harry mentioned any of this?  
          “No, mistress,” replied Winky emphatically. “Harry Potter made me promise to never ever go to my master’s house or family to show my appreciation unless they called for me first or Master Wycliff would be angry and give me clothes for sure!” she added.  
_Master_ Wycliff? Dad would flip his lid if anyone ever called him that especially something with long bat-like ears and a fat round nose! Holly could see why Cousin Harry wanted to keep Winky away… “And that’s why you left when I first said your name?”  
          Winky nodded. “Not clothes!” she pleaded again.  
          “Not clothes,” confirmed Holly decisively. “You aren’t at my house,” she reminded Winky, “so dad, uh, Master Wycliff, isn’t angry. But why were you at my bed in the first place?”  
          Winky ducked her head down. “I don’t like the other elves,” she confessed finally.  
          “Why? Are they mean to you?”  
          Winky kind of shook her whole body in response.  
          “Then why?” persisted Holly.  
          “They say I is not a proper house elf,” Winky finally mumbled.  
          “What?”  
          Winky did not answer.  
          Holly tried again. “Why do they say that?”  
          “They say I is no house elf without a house and a family of my own to care for.”  
          “Oh. So?" persisted Holly.  
          “So when you came to Hogwarts I tell the other elves that I is a proper house elf because I care for you!”  
          “You’ve been caring for me?” Holly asked blankly.  
          Winky looked up at Holly and nodded. “I sweeps the floors and make your bed,” she told her.  
          “Without me knowing?”  
          Winky tucked her head down and nodded again. “I keeps my promise to Harry Potter,” she assured Holly.  
          “Oh. But you weren’t sweeping,” persisted Holly. Winky seemed to hunch guiltily down as if trying to make herself even smaller. “You were sleeping here too!” Holly suddenly guessed.  
          “I didn’t mean to wake you…” Winky admitted fearfully. “Not clothes!” she pleaded again.  
          “No, not clothes,” Holly reassured. “But why do you want to sleep here?”  
          “The other elves say Hogwarts is _not_ a house!” Winky sobbed. “They still say I is _not_ a proper house elf!”  
          “Oh. Well, you’re definitely a house elf,” Holly told Winky, “a _proper_ house elf. Else you couldn’t have rescued me!” That much she knew for sure from what Cousin Harry had said. “I owe you my life, Winky—and if you don’t want clothes, then you don’t get clothes! And, um, if you want to sleep at the foot of my bed, that’s O.K. too—at Hogwarts, you understand!” Holly added swiftly, “not anywhere else! Dad would never stand for that.” Winky nodded eagerly; her brown eyes shined with joy. “Now, let’s get some sleep.” Winky nodded again. “Yes Miss,” she said happily. Holly started out the library. “Uh, Winky,” she began tentatively as she looked down at the elf.  
          “Yes, Miss?”  
          “Would you be offended if I asked you to, uh, wash that pil-uh, whatever it is you’re wearing?” Kreacher was filthy with Sirius, but not with Cousin Harry so Holly knew dirt was not a requirement of a house elf.  
          “No, Miss,” came the reply.  
          “That’s good,” said Holly, “I mean, it’s my mum’s best pillowcase. She crocheted the lace edging on it.”  
          “Did she?” asked Winky excitedly while looking down at the dirty gray rim. “I is honored I is. I will take good care of it I will,” Winky assured Holly.  
          “Thank you.” The two entered the dorm and Holly returned to her bed. She looked down at the cold stone at the foot of her bed. “No!” she said suddenly, “I can’t let you sleep on that!”  
          Holly looked around her sleeping area thoughtfully. Then she reached for her traveling trunk. Opening it, she tossed out all her Muggle clothing and said, “How about here?”  
          “Oh, no, Miss,” said Winky sounding thoroughly scandalized. “Is not proper for me to sleep there!”  
          “It is if I insist on it!” replied Holly with determination. Mum would never approve of a house elf sleeping at Holly’s feet and would be thoroughly horrified if she learned Holly let Winky sleep on the cold floor. Holly yanked off one of the blankets from her bed. “Blanket—not clothes!” she told Winky firmly as she laid it in the trunk. “There, how’s that?”  
          “Oh, no!” protested Winky.  
          “Yes!”  
          “Quit arguing and get to sleep!” grumbled Cicily loudly.  
          Holly held a finger to her lips. “Now” she mouthed and pointed to the trunk. Winky reluctantly climbed in. It was a snug fit but didn’t look too uncomfortable. The trunk looked infinitely better than the floor. Holly draped another blanket on top of Winky. “Good night!” she whispered and got back into her bed leaving the trunk lid open. Mum and dad would never understand, even Winky seemed rather uncertain but Holly was positive it had been the right thing to do. Suddenly Holly shot out of bed and leaned over the trunk. “Do you like music?” she asked Winky in a whisper.  
          “What?”  
          “Never mind. I know where there is a huge organ in need of cleaning. Would you like to clean it?”  
          “Yes, Miss,” came Winky’s prompt reply.  
          “Holly! _Can_ it!”  
          “Later!” whispered Holly to Winky. “I’ll explain in the morning. Night!” Holly lay back in bed excited by the prospect of having company while she played the organ. It just hadn’t seemed right going to the Room of Requirement alone and now she wouldn’t have to…


	20. Chapter 20

          “Come in.”  
          Harry Potter opened to the door and entered the office of Magical Law Enforcement.  
          “Good of you to come, Harry” said Dean Thomas, head of Wizard Magical Law Enforcement. “Have a seat.”  
          “Thank you,” replied Harry quietly. He sat down in a chair placed in front of Dean’s desk.  
          “Want some Sorbi?”  
          “Please,” replied Harry. Sorbi was slang for Sorbitium. It was really popular these days. Harry took the offered bottle, opened it and pretended to take a sip. Harry hated the stuff; all he could see when he looked at the bottle was a huge black cloud, but it would be rude to say “no.” Dean opened his own bottle and drank with obvious pleasure.  
          “You have news?” Harry asked pointedly while setting his bottle of Sorbi on the desk in front of him. It was Dean who requested the visit…  
          “Yes, quite a bit,” Dean replied. Dean set his own bottle of Sorbi down and picked up the top folder from a pile of papers in front of him. “First of all, we’re fairly certain that Sir indeed got his information from Umbridge.”  
          “Fairly certain?”  
          “Yeah, um,” Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “We couldn’t exactly ask her…”  
          “Why?”  
          “She’s escaped!”  
          “What!!! Umbridge!” Dean nodded. “How did that happen?”  
          “We don’t know. Didn’t even know she was gone until we tried to ask Umbridge about Sir…”  
          “And no one noticed?”  
          “The dementors only count bodies,” Dean replied defensively. “We went to her cell and found some poor Muggle dressed up like Umbridge who had been there for who knows how long…” Dean looked down, clearly embarrassed. “Anyway, it’s a safe bet she exchanged information for freedom… After a year of watching Holly, she probably knew a lot!” he concluded. “I’ve passed the news on to the aurors,” Dean added, “and now you, but we’re keeping quiet about the escape in hopes she’ll be easier to find if she doesn’t know we’re looking for her.”  
          Harry sighed and nodded. There was nothing to be done about it now. He’d pass the word on to his family and Holly. They had a right to know, just in case. “What else have you learned?”  
          “We’ve been verifying the outside aspects of Holly’s story,” Dean told Harry. “I think we found the first woman Holly mentioned. She lives in Chippenham. He handed Harry a paper from the folder. Harry glanced down while Dean continued to speak. “Nancy Jefferis. One week after Holly’s abduction. Apparently the husband came home and found her unconscious on the floor bleeding from numerous slash wounds. The Muggles called it a “home invasion” and she’s been in the hospital ever since, or was.”  
          “The hospital?” Harry looked up from the papers.  
          “Yeah,” replied Dean, “the Muggles couldn’t revive her and thought she was in some sort of a coma. Actually, it was a spell induced sleep. Wizard Tuttle slipped in, removed the spell and had a little chat with her. Mrs. Jefferis was sitting in her flat watching the tube when she suddenly felt the most excruciating pain! It came back several times with interludes so brief she was unable to use the time to seek help. Then she felt the first cut... And another, and another… Didn’t see or hear a thing; she had no clue Holly and Sir were nearby. Tuttle modified her memories to match their police report before he left.”  
          Dean handed Harry a second paper. “The man was Gerald Moring of Bridgeport. He was admitted to the hospital three days later. He had just learned that his wife was sleeping with someone else and he was fuming about it when he got the most horrific earache… Later, the cuts appeared—two on his cheek, one on a forearm… He couldn’t explain their origins. The wife denies sleeping with anyone else and was convinced he cut himself… No idea who the couple were,” Dean added as he handed Harry another paper, “but the boy was probably 2 year old Devon Danks from Ashford. He was found in an attic covered with bee stings and no hive nearby… Tuttle got some healing potions from Winonan to speed up his recovery. The boy didn’t remember anything but the bees.” Harry shuttered involuntarily imagining what the poor boy must have experienced.  
           “This is a summary of Fitzpatrick’s medical report,” Dean added handing Harry several more papers. Harry winced inwardly as he read through them. “As you can see,” continued Dean, “Holly understated his injuries considerably. The parents found him in the woods near death and took him to a Muggle hospital. When he finally recovered enough to speak they transferred him to St. Mungo’s. Fitzpatrick filed a complaint claiming the _Imperius Curse_ had been used, but there were no leads… Fitzpatrick won’t talk with the aurors about his experience now,” added Dean looking distinctly uncomfortable.  
          “Shouldn’t he have talked with them when it happened?” Harry inquired delicately.  
          “He did,” said Dean defensively, “but this isn’t the kind of thing wizards do to each other… not ordinarily,” Dean hastily amended. “Fitzpatrick would not explain why he was so certain the injuries had been the results of an _Imperius Curse_. Nor could he name any enemies or provide a motive for the attack. The injuries, though horrific, were clearly self-inflicted and the Muggle doctors who treated him recommended Fitzpatrick undergo psychiatric evaluation…"    
          “In other words, the aurors didn’t believe him,” reinterpreted Harry dryly.  
          “Ah, not really, no…” admitted Dean reluctantly. “But in all fairness, I doubt there would have been anything for them to find…   Sir didn’t leave any witnesses or evidence behind at the other sites. Still, we sent someone to visit the family and see if they heard or noticed anything…”  
          “And?”  
          “And they weren’t there!”  
          “Not there?”  
          “No. They apparently picked everything up and left after Fitzpatrick was taken to St. Mungo’s. My people nosed around a bit, finally found a lead and located them in a nearby town under a new name. The family never heard a thing; Fitzpatrick was late for dinner and they went looking for him… They were still pretty traumatized by what they found…”  
          “Hmm. Would you do me a favor?”  
          “What?”  
          “Do you think you could send someone back and “muddy” up the trail, so to speak?”  
          “Huh?”  
          “Fitzpatrick is obviously worried about his family. The least we can do is respect that concern and help out. I don’t think Sir has any further interest in Fitzpatrick or his family but it never hurts to be safe…”  
          “That’s easy enough. I’ll give Miss Vasari the task. She works well with Muggles and likes to keep busy.”  
          “Thanks.”  
          “There’s uh, could be another one,” Dean added hesitantly. He closed the folder, set it aside and picked up a new piece of paper from the desk.  
          “Another one?”  
          “Maybe. A Muggle named Bernard Goodhue complained of numerous instances of excruciating pain followed by several slashes made by an _unseen_ assailant. It was done at night so the Muggle authorities assumed he just couldn’t see the person. Wizard Tuttle says the description of the experience is similar to what Mrs. Jefferis described. It happened about a week after Fitzpatrick, though. You think Holly neglected to tell us about him?” he questioned.  
          “No,” said Harry thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. I can’t imagine her leaving something like this out.” He looked at the paper, skimming the report. “I don’t think she knew,” Harry concluded aloud. “I think when Pettigrew talked, Holly listened—to him, and nothing else. That’s what she said. This Mr. Goodhue is proof of that.”  
          “Sounds logical,” mused Dean. He looked down at his desk, picked up one final piece of paper, and then asked, “Do you think Holly can sense the emotions of Goblins?”  
          Harry blinked in surprise. “Goblins? I don’t know, she’s never said… Why?”  
           “Well, Miss Vasari was going through our unsolved cases and says she found one that matches Sir’s MO… The incident happened after the one with Fitzpatrick,” he added handing Harry the paper, “but before the one with Mr. Goodhue. A goblin complained that he was severely brutalized by an unseen wizard, wand-carrier, was his actual words, and left for dead…”  
          “Which goblin?” asked Harry out of idle curiosity. Not that he knew all that many goblins by name…  
          “Um, Gottenrid? Bottendam? Something like that,” replied Dean casually.  
          “Gottenram,” corrected Harry finding the name easily on the page. He felt a shiver go though his body as he said it.  
          “Yeah, that’s it,” agreed Dean without real interest. “The goblins filed a complaint charging an unprovoked wizard attack. Of course we didn’t take it seriously,” Dean added dismissively. “They’re always complaining.”  
          “Gottenram is a President of Gringotts,” Harry informed Dean remembering Gottenram’s swarthy face, pointed beard, long thin yellow fingers, sneering lips, and glittering black eyes.  
          “He is? How do you know?”  
          “You pick up things here and there,” replied Harry vaguely while acutely aware of the invisible band on his wrist a constant reminder of his meeting with Gottenram…  
          “Well maybe the attack _does_ have something to do with Sir! What I wouldn’t give to be able to read a goblin’s mind sometimes—especially one at Gringotts!”  
          “Holly doesn’t read minds,” reminded Harry.  
          “True,” agreed Dean. “But do Goblins practice Occlumency? Can they? An inside edge on wizard finances would be a powerful tool especially in the hands of a dark wizard.”  
          Harry shuttered and returned all the papers to Dean. “Does any of this help us catch Sir?”  
          “Not really,” admitted Dean. “But you never know what will become important later. So far, we have a lot of clues about Sir in general. Notice the Muggle attacks were all located in southern England. That would seem to indicate a fair amount of comfort with the area. We’re focusing our interest on wizards originating from or residing in that area.  
          The attacks all occurred in different towns raising no Muggle alarms to his activity. I would guess Sir is a bit reclusive, not one who likes publicity,” continued Dean. “In addition, none are near the location where Holly’s patronus emerged… Holly, however, never mentioned noticing movement of any sort. That means Sir has found a way to move an unplottable structure from place to place! Not only move it, but move it to places _within_ Muggle structures! I didn’t know any of that was possible which means it is something Sir didn’t learn out of a book. That indicates that Sir is highly intelligent and has been probably developing his own spells for some time. The escape of Umbridge reinforces that conclusion. We still haven’t figured out how it was done.”  
          Dean shuffled the papers in his hand making them neat and orderly. Then he returned them to the folder and set it back down on the desk. “He’s careful, too,” he told Harry, “leaves no evidence or witnesses behind—even Holly can’t identify Sir as someone we know and he had no reason to think she would ever be in a position to testify against him…”  
          Dean took a long drink of Sorbi, set the bottle down and continued. “Sir doesn’t act in haste either,” he added. “Holly’s abduction had to have been months, maybe years in the making. It must have taken considerable time to construct Holly’s prison; it was very unique and clearly designed for a long time captive. Then Sir had to find a Muggle double for Holly—polyjuice would have passed only until she touched the portkey. The explosion would have caused the Muggle girl to revert to her original appearance and her dead body had to pass as Holly as well.” Harry shuttered remembering the still blackened corpse he had seen in the Healer’s tent.  
          “And then there is the matter how Holly came to attend the match in the first place...” continued Dean. “The Owens’ box seats and tent space were purchased in July when the tickets first came on sale. The Owens name was used in the purchase but the Owens maintain they got their tickets later. The original tickets were paid for by cash with an owl drop at an empty lot for ticket delivery. A week later the same tickets were offered for “sale” at a lower price to the Owens described as part of a “promotional” deal. There was no promotional. Sir must have anticipated that if the Owens got two extra tickets the first two people they would invite would be Becky and Holly… He could have gotten that from Umbridge,” Dean added as an aside, “It was a calculated risk, but a small one; I understand Holly, Mark and Becky were nearly inseparable all year… If Holly didn’t show, abduction plans could have easily been put off for another place and time…”  
          “The portkey explosion?” Harry asked faintly suddenly wondering if that would have still happened had Holly not gone to the match.  
          “We think the Muggle double caused the explosion somehow,” answered Dean, “Maybe it was the results of something she was wearing or carrying or something she was told to do once she got to the key… We know Sir was there to get Holly so we’re still interviewing the witches and wizards who attended the match. Someone out there knows something,” Dean stated firmly. “We’ll learn it and use that knowledge to find Sir,” he concluded confidently.  
          Harry nodded although he didn’t feel nearly as confident as Dean sounded. “Is that everything?”  
          “For now,” replied Dean.  
          “Then I have one other thing I want to mention,” began Harry changing the subject.  
          “Oh?”  
          “About Fitzpatrick…”  
          “Yes?”  
          “Albus wrote and asked if I would help him learn to throw off an _Imperius Curse_ …” Albus wrote quite a few things, but that was the only part Dean needed to know.  
          Dean looked at Harry with obvious disapproval. “You know there’s only one way to do that don’t you?” he accused.  
          “Is there?” asked Harry innocently while keeping all expression from his face.  
          “That’s right and it’s _unforgivable!_ ” Dean reminded.  
          “I thought we might work on it over the Holidays,” Harry added blandly as if Dean hadn’t spoken.  
          “Dammit, Harry!” exploded Dean. “Family is one thing but Fitzpatrick’s not family! You don’t even know him!”  
          “I know he’s a friend of Albus, and of Holly,” informed Harry coolly. “And he was tortured horribly to gain Holly’s cooperation…”  
          “But—”  
          “Fitzpatrick was brutally assaulted,” continued Harry not letting Dean speak, “yet the first thing he did when he could speak was make sure his family was safe! That speaks a lot for his character!”  
          “I know, but—”  
          “I checked with McGonagall,” Harry added. “Fitzpatrick’s been a physical and emotional wreck ever since he came to Hogwarts this year, and we both know why! Now if I can help him regain some measure of control over his life then I will do it!” he told Dean fiercely.  
          Dean leaned back in his seat. “And if I tell you “no?” he asked while watching Harry closely.  
          “I didn’t ask your permission,” reminded Harry. “I was only letting you know as a courtesy…”  
          “What you’re talking about doing is illegal!” retorted Dean angrily while leaning forward.  
          “I haven’t mentioned doing anything specific,” reminded Harry, “but if you think I’m breaking the law, then arrest me!” Harry held out his wand to Dean, end first, to emphasize his words. Dean wouldn’t and they both knew it, not now anyway. But Harry meant it when he said he wouldn’t resist should Dean decide otherwise. He’d take his case to the courts if need be.  
          Dean stared at the wand a long time. Finally he seemed to relax and leaned back. “You will be discrete won’t you?” he asked worriedly.  
          “Of course,” replied Harry confidently.  
          “Because if I hear of anything…”  
          “You won’t,” Harry assured. That was one reason why Harry was telling him in advance, to give a Dean chance to make sure he would not be in a position to “hear” anything; so he wouldn’t ask questions to which he didn’t wish to “hear” the answers, and so Dean wouldn’t be offended if Harry didn’t invite him over to visit during the holidays… “Is there anything else?”  
          “No,” replied Dean. “I guess not, not now, anyway.”  
          “Then I should be leaving.” Harry rose out of his chair. “Thanks for the update,” he told Dean. “I appreciate you keeping me informed.”  
          “No problem,” Dean replied while rising as well. “Let me know if Holly comes up with anything else.” he added as they shook hands.  
          “I will.”

**********

          The barn owl glided in carrying a scroll and landed in front of Holly Wycliff. “More fan mail?” asked Donald Wrezenski idly.  
          Holly had gotten considerable mail throughout the week, mostly from well-wishers glad she was still alive. Holly dutifully wrote a response to each one as her mum had taught her. Holly unrolled the parchment and read the message. “It’s from Wizard Pilkington.”  
          “The solicitor?” questioned Prefect Eddie Shunpike. “Probably a bill then.”  
          “Actually, he was wondering if I wanted to help out with his annual fund-raising ball…” replied Holly.  
          Seriously?” asked Susan Breysburry as she guided her pet tarantula across her empty Sabois bottle. “Like we don’t have enough to do already!” Several students laughed in agreement.  
          Holly felt her face warm. She had agreed to help work on Wizard Pilkington’s fundraising ball in after he had gotten Sirius Black’s name cleared last year. When she had made that agreement, Holly had assumed that all the Hufflepuffs would help out. But now, after Susan’s comments, Holly wouldn’t dream of asking for their help. Strange, how things could change so much in a year. Holly pulled out a quill, wrote a quick acceptance and attached it to the owl’s leg. She had promised to help and intended to keep her word somehow.  
          “Check out that horned owl!” commented Mark as a new owl swooped in and dropped a package in front of Holly. “Isn’t it a beauty?” he added as the owl flew off.  
          Holly tore open the package, found a scroll within and unrolled it. Suddenly she dropped the scroll, lurched off her seat and ran from the Great Hall knocking dishes aside in her haste.

**********

          Becky Elaine Smith set down her empty Sabois bottle as she watched Holly abruptly leave the Great Hall. Then she noted Holly’s cousin, Albus, rise from his seat at the Gryffindor table and leave the Hall too. _“Good!”_ she thought with relief. _“He’s family. He can take care of it.”_ Holly and all her problems could be such a drag sometimes.  
          “Wonder why Holly took off,” mused Susan aloud. She reached for the parchment, unrolled it and read the message inside. “It’s only a congratulatory note,” she told the group. “No signature.”  
          Mark took the parchment from Susan and looked at it. His mobility had almost completely returned. In fact, he was better than before no longer needing glasses to read. “Hey, that looks familiar!” he announced. “Check it out!” he added handing the parchment to Clayton. Clayton unrolled the parchment. “Yep!” he confirmed. “That looks like from the painting we did.” Becky reached out and took the parchment from Clayton. She only had a few twinges and minor creaks to physically remind her of that horrible day.  
          “Did you give the Ministry a copy of it?” questioned Mark as she unrolled it.

 **Congratulations on a successful escape!**    The note read.  
**May it never happen again...**

          Innocent sounding enough. But at the base of the parchment was a picture of the head and shoulders of Headmaster Snape—at least that was who Holly said it was when she had shown Becky the finished painting she had done with Clayton last spring.  
          “Nope!” assured Clayton as Prefect Donna reached out and took the scroll from Becky. “They never asked for it. This is confirmation the painting never went up in the explosion,” Clayton added with satisfaction.  
          “It also means this note is probably from Sir,” commented Donna.  
          Becky felt a shiver run through her body. The message seemed to take on new meaning. Did he mean to try again? Her eyes fell on the partially opened package; she recognized the label and shape of a Sabois bottle within. “She won’t be wanting this,” Becky announced to the group as she freed the bottle from the wrappers. Holly had made it clear she didn’t appreciate the merits of Sabois. Her loss. Becky opened the bottle and drank deeply letting her mind float to the comforting memories of home and security the drink seemed to bring.  
          “And I doubt she’ll want this either,” added Lynette reaching out and grabbing the other item in the package. Becky looked and saw an apple, a beautiful red apple. Lynette took a bite and closed her eyes in obvious delight. “Mmmm!” she said. “Crisp, cold, juicy, wonderful flavour—I wonder where he got it!”  
          “What should we do with the note?” asked Donald Wrezenski who had been looking at it curiously. He looked around the table and no one answered. “Toss it?” he questioned.  
          “It’s Holly’s,” reminded Becky. “We can’t just toss it…” She took the note from Donald and stood up. “We should ask her,” she added decisively. Taking the note Becky left the Great Hall. She found Holly and Albus standing to one side just outside the Hall. “Hey, Holly,” Becky called out. “What do you want us to do with this?” she asked holding up the rolled parchment. The two looked up at her. Holly’s face was positively white and she looked like she had been crying; Albus’ face looked contorted in anger.  
          “Get rid of it!” Holly swiftly exclaimed.  
          “No!” said Albus. “Give it to me!” He took a step forward and held out his hand. Becky dropped the parchment in his hand happy to be rid of it. “Thanks,” he muttered while shoving the parchment into a pocket.  
          “Any time,” said Becky easily and swiftly returned to the Hufflepuff table. She needed another drink of the Sabois to chase away the unpleasant thoughts the note had dredged up. Besides, the group was still planning their trip to Hogsmeade for later that day…

**********

          The thief couldn’t believe his eyes! The owner had left the cottage in such a hurry that the door still hung open. Moving quickly, the thief slipped into the house closing the door behind him. Now, to find something to steal…  
          The interior of the cottage was a major disappointment. It was immaculate! So immaculate that it was difficult to believe anyone even lived there. The cottage contained only a few pieces of furniture: a sofa, a lamp, a coffee table, a plain desk and chair, and a couple of easy chairs. The walls were bare except for a small photo of Smeltings over the desk, and a huge painting of a golden coloured snake wrapped around a leafy branch that hung over the sofa. … An old-fashioned land line telephone sat on the desk and the drawers contained only a few sheets of blank paper, a pen and pencil. The small kitchen was equally sparse with a sparkling counter, a tiny hardwood table, plain white tablecloth, matching curtains, one chair and only a few cheap dishes on the shelf.  
          The door that probably led to the bedroom was closed and locked. Odd. Who locks bedrooms? No matter what the thief tried, he couldn’t get that door open.  
          Frustrated, the thief looked around for something to steal. It was a matter of pride to not leave without taking something… But the place was so sterile! The furniture was ordinary and cheap. There was no computer, no tube and nothing of value in the desk. The snake painting might be worth something but it was too huge to carry.  
          Finally, the thief’s eyes fell on a tiny grainy black and white photo of Smeltings. It hung on the wall facing the desk. The photo was nothing special; he’d seen similar copies for sale at numerous souvenir places within the village. The frame, however, was definitely different. It was made of four polished different coloured mismatched twigs, each slightly thicker than a finger. The four twigs somehow stayed together forming a rough square around the photo but the frame looked ready to fall apart and totally out of place in the otherwise impeccable cottage interior.  
          The thief reached two gloved hands out, took hold of the frame and tried to lift the photo off the wall. To his surprise, the frame came apart in his fingers becoming four polished twig-like segments and the photo remained stuck to the wall! The thief put the twigs on the desk while he tried to remove the photo. Despite considerable effort, the photo remained securely attached to the wall. Finally, the thief gave up. Fearing he had remained in the cottage too long, the thief grabbed the polished twigs, stuffed them in his pocket and hastily left the cottage carefully closing the door behind him. 


	21. Chapter 21

          “Please?” begged Holly.   
          Becky Smith rolled her eyes. “Seriously?” she asked in exasperation. Holly lowered her beaded head, sniffed and nodded. “Just because Sir wrote you once doesn’t mean he’ll do it again and it certainly doesn’t mean _I_ have to check all your mail for you!” Becky protested.  
          “Please?” Holly whispered again.  
          “Oh, all right!” Becky grumbled. She took the package from Holly and tore open its wrappings.  
          “Thanks,” Holly whispered her head and face down the whole time.  
          Becky reviewed the contents and read the enclosed note. “It’s from Wizard Pilkington,” she announced. “And he wants the invitations sent—” Becky broke off. “Did you tell him “yes” the other day?” she asked suddenly.  
          Holly hastily grabbed the note and package from Becky and started stuffing them in her bag. Becky saw her face turn red with embarrassment.  
          “You did, didn’t you,” guessed Cicily from across the table. “That was pretty stupid!” she observed acidly. “How are you going to get it all done plus your schoolwork?”  
          “Probably forget the schoolwork,” commented Mark calmly. “But honestly, I’m not sure you’ll have enough time skipping even that. I’ve heard everybody gets invited to his charity ball. Of course, it depends on when he all wants the invitations done by, but the sooner the better for stuff like that. You really should write him back and say you can’t do it,” he advised.  
          “Let me worry about that?” mumbled Holly and she hastily left the table.  
          “Good luck!” called out Becky as Holly exited the Hall.

**********               

          “Holly, hey Holly!” called out Albus. “Are you all right?”  
          Holly Wycliff stopped letting Albus catch up with her several meters outside of the Great Hall. “I’m fine,” she hastened to assure him. Holly could sense Albus was truly worried.  
          “That’s good,” he told her with relief. “I was afraid Sir had written again…”  
          “No, it isn’t that,” Holly told him. “It’s just that I have a lot to get done.”  
          “Oh?”  
          “Yeah, um, I agreed to help Wizard Pilkington on his charity ball this year…”  
          “You did?”  
          “Yes, I’ve got a stack of invitations to complete so if you’ll excuse me…” Holly turned to leave.  
          “You need help?” questioned Albus.  
          “I can manage,” Holly assured him.  
          “I know that,” agreed Albus though his emotions weren’t so certain, “but would you like some help? Things always go faster when you have help.”  
          “Um, sure,” agreed Holly. “That is, if you don’t mind, and don’t have anything else going on…”  
          “I’m free today,” he told her. “When and where?”  
          “Uh,” Holly thought quickly. “How about the Room of Requirement after lunch?”  
          “Sounds fine to me,” agreed Albus. “Uh, would you mind if I brought along some friends to help too? You know, like Conner?”  
          “Sure, go ahead,” agreed Holly. Holly hadn’t talked with Conner since the visit in the Memorial. From a distance, Conner had seemed more rested and less haunted. Holly welcomed the chance to see how he was doing up close. “The more the merrier, right?”  
          “Right. See you after lunch.”

**********

          Holly stopped off at her dorm to pick up the bag Wizard Pilkington had sent her before going to the Room of Requirement. She halted in surprise when she neared the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Not only Albus and Conner stood outside waiting, but four other people as well! “What?”  
          “You said the more the merrier,” Albus reminded Holly in a smug voice. She could tell he was pretty proud of himself. “I stopped by the library to see who else was free…”  
          “This is Jerome and Jesse Prenderg,” he added introducing two Gryffindors seated against the wall. Both had brown hair and lots of freckles and were obviously twins. The two were dressed in similar clothing looked younger than Albus, maybe first or second year…  
          “Hi,” said the two in unison each lifting a hand in a greeting type wave.  
          “This is, uh, Nadia, uh”  
          “Nadia Turay,” filled in a spindly girl with dark skin, black frizzy hair and huge glasses. She looked incredibly tiny and young, most likely a first year, but oozed the calm confidence Holly had sensed from many Ravenclaws… “I’ve always wanted to see the Room of Requirement,” she added by way of an explanation of why she was there.  
          “And, uh, you already know, uh, Richards,” finished Albus rather lamely. It was clear Richards hadn’t been specifically invited but wasn’t turned away either.  
          “I was bored,” said Anthony Richards in a condescending tone. “But I haven’t seen the Room of Requirement either…”  
          “Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here,” said Holly. She had gotten a look of the invitation list; Mark was right, it was a lot of work and would have been extremely difficult to complete alone…”  
          “I thought I’d wait for you to set up the room as you know what we’ll be doing,” said Albus stepping away from the wall inviting Holly to begin walking.  
          Holly nodded. She stepped forward and closed her eyes: _“I need a place to work on invitations,”_ she told herself as she started to pace. _“I need a place to work on invitations…”_  
          “Wow!” said Nadia approvingly. “How’d you do that?”  
          Holly opened her eyes. A door, charred and sooty, had appeared. “Practice,” replied Holly as she pulled out her handkerchief, wrapped it around the knob and opened the door.  
          “Is it always so, um dirty?” asked Jesse curiously.  
          “It is for me,” answered Holly honestly. She waited curiously to see if Albus confirmed that knowing he had used the room too but Albus didn’t say anything as he hefted the bag he was carrying and prepared to enter. Then Holly remembered the last time Albus was probably in the room was when he was searching for the potions book of the Half Blood Prince. He probably didn’t want people to know about that. “Cousin Harry said the room was pretty badly burned during the Battle of Hogwarts so I expect that’s why it always looks so burnt,” Holly added as they walked inside.  
          “Doesn’t look like much,” commented Tony critically when he looked around the bare room that held a single long gray table tinged in charcoal black, with eight matching chairs and smelled faintly of smoke. A smoky gray quill and a bottle of ink lay on the table in front of each chair. In one corner was a small basket and blanket for Sasha to curl up in if she wished. Holly’s “needs” always included Sasha.  
          Holly bit back her automatic knee-jerk reaction of “you can always leave if you don’t like it,” when she suddenly realized there was no malice in his words. In fact, though the rest of the students had been quick to make disparaging comments about her new wand and its eucalyptus scent, Holly abruptly realized Tony had not been in those numbers. Holly wasn’t sure the reason why, but decided to not question it. “That’s because what I _need_ right now is a place to fill out all these invitations,” answered Holly instead. “The room comes equipped for your particular needs at the time,” she added explaining.  
          “You mean it’s not like this all the time?” questioned Jesse.  
          “No,” answered Holly remembering the reverberating tones of organ music she had enjoyed only that morning. “This morning it contained a wonderful pipe organ.”  
          “Organ?” questioned Tony in disbelief.  
          “Yeah, playing the organ helps keep me from having … nightmares…” Holly explained self-consciously. Winky had spent the whole time happily polishing the huge pipes. They shone with her efforts but would revert back to dull smoky black the next time Holly practiced.  
          “So that’s where you’ve been learning organ!” exclaimed Albus suddenly. “I wondered about that!”  
          “The seventh floor was off limits last year,” piped up Jerome. “I bet that’s where Umbridge was staying!” Holly sensed immediate spikes of stress and concern in Conner, Albus and Tony.  
          “You’re probably right,” Holly agreed without emotion. She wasn’t supposed to know anything about Umbridge staying in the Room of Requirement. “But let’s get to work on these invitations!” she added changing the subject. Holly was certain Umbridge was not someone Conner, Albus or Tony wanted to discuss. Holly placed the bag on the table, opened it and began to distribute the contents.  
          Wizard Pilkington had provided a whole stack of invitations and a long list of intended recipients. Each one had to be personally addressed and then rolled and sealed for delivering. Holly divided the list among the eight and everyone started working.  
          After about two hours the group had finished the invitations and all that remained was to attach them to the owls and send the invitations on their way. (The Headmistress had agreed to let the school owls be used for this purpose.) Some serious help made all the difference. Albus put down his quill, leaned back and stretched. “We’re done!” he announced to no one in particular. “That calls for a celebration. Drinks anyone?” he asked reaching into the bag he had brought along.  
          “What kind?” questioned Nadia suspiciously.  
          “Water, juice…” replied Albus pulling out two jugs and an assortment of cups.  
           _“Orange_ juice,” filled in Conner grabbing the orange coloured jug and a mug.  
          “No Sabois?” questioned Tony icily.   
          “No,” replied Albus simply. Surprisingly, Holly felt a sense of relief flow through the group. Everyone reached for a cup. Albus poured out water for those who wished and Conner served the juice.  
          Holly considered the relief she had sensed as she sipped her water. Why would they have been relieved there was no Sabois present? “You mean I’m not the only one who doesn’t like Sabois?” Holly questioned hesitantly.  
          “Sabois is nasty!” pronounced Nadia.  
          “Hear, hear!” agreed Jerome and Jesse while raising their cup of orange juice and clinking them in a salute. Even Tony nodded in agreement.  
          Albus shrugged. “It just tastes like water to me,” he commented. “Can’t see the reason of spending extra knuts for a label when I can get the real thing for free…”  
          “I don’t get it,” puzzled Holly. “How can something we” (it was so nice saying “we;” until that moment Holly hadn’t realized how _alone_ she had felt being the only one at Hufflepuff who didn’t like Sabois,) “don’t like, Mark and Becky think is the greatest drink ever, taste like plain water to you?”  
          “Water _is_ the greatest drink ever,” answered Albus simply.  
          “But Sabois is _not_ plain water,” responded Nadia.  
          Albus shrugged again. “I know,” he told her, “but that’s what I taste.”  
          “And it doesn’t taste anything like water!” Tony told him in no uncertain terms.  
          “That’s what Rose and Taylor keep telling me,” Albus responded, “but I taste water—pure sweet water.” His calm voice hid a surge of frustration within. Holly suddenly wondered if Sabois was the subject of the “argument” Albus had had with them.  
          “Three flavours?” questioned Jesse. “Like, dislike and water?”  
          “What kind of dislike?” questioned Nadia suddenly. “It’s sharp and bitter to me.  
          “Yeah,” chorused Jerome and Tony.  
          “Um, it tastes like gruel to me,” Holly confessed. “Ucky, tasteless gruel.” She shuttered as memories of the horrible gray room rose to her mind.  
          “Four flavours?” All eyes suddenly turned on Conner. He looked down and Holly felt a surge of pain and shame. “Paper!” he suddenly mumbled. “It tastes like paper!” Holly knew exactly what paper he was talking about. Two tastes connected to an experience with Sir? That couldn’t be normal.  
          “It’s not the same taste for those who like it,” Tony abruptly volunteered. “Scorpius says it reminds him of Christmas eggnog.”  
          “Alessa says it tastes like ripe warm strawberries on a summer day!” contributed Nadia.  
          “Grandma’s clootie!” chimed in both Jerome and Jesse.  
          “Uh, that’s what Jennifer keeps saying as she drinks it!” explained Jesse.  
          “The same drink can’t have all those different flavours!” insisted Holly. “There must be some magic spell connected to it!”  
          “It’s been tested!” replied Nadia flatly. “It was an upper class assignment in potions,” she told them. “They found nothing suspicious or magical at all within the drink.”  
          “Several Slytherins did testing too,” informed Tony. “They didn’t find anything either.”  
          “So they messed up somehow,” insisted Holly. “All of them! It’s not right the way that drink changes things!”  
          “It never hurts to test again,” mused Albus, “but whom would you ask? Healer Winonan?”  
          “No,” sighed Holly. “He’s tested it already and found nothing! We need someone good with potions who hasn’t tested it yet.”  
          “What about Wizard Borage?” asked Conner. He had printed the potions book they used in class.  
          “I don’t think he’d be unbiased,” commented Jerome. “Haven’t you been reading the _Prophet?_ He’s sponsoring an essay contest —“Best description of Sabois” with a case of Sabois for first prize.”  
          “We’ve been trying to figure out how many ways to describe “disgusting” to enter,” added Jesse.  
          The group fell silent thinking. “Paige!” said Tony suddenly.  
          “Crowley?” asked the twins in unison.  
          “Seriously?” added Jerome. “Don’t you remember all the stuff she put us through last year?”  
          “No he’s right!” interposed Holly before Tony could express the anger she sensed growing within him. “Paige is brilliant with potions and super good with magic too,” Holly added remembering Paige had been an auror student. “Do you think you could set up a meeting for me with Paige?” she asked Tony. Paige owed her one for getting her out of trouble last year; Holly was certain Paige would agree.  
          “I could try,” agreed Tony, “but it will take a while. She’s still in France finishing her internship,” Tony informed Holly. “She’ll be back in December.”  
          “Well, December is better than never,” decided Holly aloud. “Ask her for me will you?”  
          “O.K.”  


***********

          Vernon Wycliff sat in the student lounge reading an English assignment. He hated English. Most of the stuff he had to read for English was seriously boring…  
          “Wycliff, you’re wanted!”  
          Vernon looked up from his reading. Montague was standing over him wearing this knowing kind of smirk on his face. Trevors and Pittman stood a few steps behind him. Both of them were smiling too. “Says who?” challenged Vernon.  
          “Says Headmaster Portermeyer!” answered Pittman cheerfully. He stepped forward and thumped his knobbly stick repeatedly in his hand clearly looking for the opportunity to use it.  
          “We’re supposed to escort you to him immediately,” supplied Trevors, “both of you!” he added while looking around. “Where’s Perkins?”  
          “Why?” asked Vernon bluntly.  
          “He didn’t tell us,” replied Montague impatiently. “Now, where’s Perkins?”  
          “Morning track exercise,” answered Vernon knowing there’d be no advantage in hiding it—Kenny’s whereabouts was easily determined. He’d be in the bleachers watching, except it was too cold outside.  
          “We can pick him up along the way,” decided Montague aloud. “Come on!” Vernon looked at him without moving. “You think we’re lying?” challenged Montague.  
          Vernon studied Montague thoughtfully. _“Probably not,”_ he decided and started putting his things in his bag. There were too many witnesses in the lounge; Montague didn’t like witnesses when he was being less-than-honest… He stood and followed Montague out of the lounge. Trevors and Pittman followed.  
          Vernon spotted Kenny in the distance as they started to cross the lawn. He was wearing his track sweats and carrying a bag. Kenny saw Vernon with the trio and ran over to Vernon. “What—” he began.  
          “You’re just in time,” announced Pittman cheerfully. “Saved me a trip to the track! Portermeyer wants you too!”  
          “Huh?”  
          “Portermeyer wants to see you both immediately!” explained Montague. “Come along!”  
          “Can’t I change first?” questioned Kenny while holding up his bag.  
          “Nope!” decided Montague. “He wants you _now_ , not after a change of clothes!”  
          Kenny shrugged and joined the group without further comment. Vernon cast his mind about for a reason for the meeting. Had Vanessa made some new accusation? Montague led the two, not to the administration building, but to the front of Vernon’s dormitory hall. “What are we doing here?” questioned Vernon worriedly.  
          “That’s where he wants to see you!” answered Montague. Vernon could see this smug look on his face. What was going on? Montague opened the door and stood aside for Vernon and Kenny to enter first. Headmaster Portermeyer stood inside waiting. He had this grim look on his face. “There you are!” he said impatiently. “I expect you both know why you’re here…”  
          “No, sir,” replied Vernon respectfully. Kenny looked equally confused.  
          Headmaster Portermeyer regarded the two in disbelief. “Well, there have been some petty thefts from the cottages near Smeltings,” he added explaining. “Several! I just got a call from someone who saw two lads sneaking onto the campus at dawn—two lads in _Smeltings_ uniforms—a _blond_ husky boy and a smaller skinnier one with _dark_ hair and skin…”  
          Vernon felt his blood turn cold at the description. “It wasn’t us,” he protested.  
          “Yes, we’ve heard _that_ one before,” snorted the Headmaster in disbelief. “We all know that there are only _two_ Smelting students who are frequently seen together fitting that description,” continued the Headmaster ignoring Vernon’s words. “So we are all going up to search your room and settle this once and for all!”  
          “All of us?” questioned Kenny softly.  
          “Yes, _all_ of us,” affirmed the Headmaster. “That way there will be _witnesses_ too!” Pittman grinned openly at this announcement and slapped his knobbly stick against his hand several times in anticipation.  
          The group squished together in the elevator and the doors closed. “You can’t seriously believe we did this do you?” questioned Vernon as they moved up.  
          “I’d like to think none of our students would do such a thing,” admitted the Headmaster, “but I have spent the last half hour listening to an irate villager certain of what he saw while trying to dissuade him from calling the authorities before I could check things out. He was most descriptive and very convincing.” The elevator rumbled to a stop and the doors slid open. “After you,” said the Headmaster coldly letting Vernon and Kenny lead the way.  
          Vernon knew there was nothing to find because they hadn’t done anything, but that smile on Montague’s face, mirrored by both Trevors and Pittman, was unnerving. What did they know that Vernon didn’t?  
          “We didn’t do this,” repeated Vernon as he unlocked the door to his room. “Maybe Miss Ibott…” he suggested while stepping inside.  
          “Miss Ibott is truly remorseful for what she did earlier and knows nothing about any thefts in the village,” assured Headmaster Portermeyer, “besides, she is currently visiting France so don’t blame her for your crimes.”  
          “But we didn’t do it!” insisted Vernon again as they all crowded in behind him filling the small room.  
          “We shall see… Mr. Montague?”  
          “Yes, sir,” Montague snapped to attention. His eyes shined with suppressed excitement.  
          “Would you please search the room?”  
          “Yes, sir?” Montague grinned.  
          “We’re looking for a light gray or white bag, like a pillowcase, filled with things: small items like jewelry, wallets, and loose cash. I have a list of the stolen items from which we can compare…”  
          “Yes, sir!” Montague immediately started by looking under Vernon’s bed. Then he moved on to looking under Kenny’s bed with no results. After that, he checked the shelves, and the wardrobe closet cheerfully pulling out a small box he found hidden there. Montague opened the box and placed a colorful tin onto Vernon’s bed. He opened it and revealed an assortment of chocolates and handmade treats. It was Kenny’s care package of snacks from home. Montague looked questionably at the Headmaster who immediately shook his head. Then Montague rummaged through each drawer looking for items that did not belong. He pulled out another two tins nestled in Kenny’s sock and underwear drawer and placed them on Vernon’s bed. They also contained colorful looking treats. Montague continued his search stopping at the small change he found in Vernon’s desk. He held the coins out questioningly to the Headmaster. The Headmaster stared at them mutely and shook his head again. Montague resumed his search checking the bedding, pillows and looking under the mattresses for good measure. He was none too neat in the process. It would take major straightening to clean up afterwards but at least he hadn’t found any stolen items…  
          “The locker,” suggested Trevors suddenly. “Perkins was at the track this morning…”  
          “Your locker key?” demanded the Headmaster. Kenny set down his bag and obediently fished out his locker key. “Number?” Headmaster Portermeyer asked as Kenny handed over the key.  
          “Six-seventy-three,” replied Kenny.  
          “We’ll go look!” volunteered Trevors. Pittman nodded eagerly.  
          “We’ll wait,” said Headmaster Portermeyer determinedly as he handed the key to Trevors. The two hurried from the room.  
          “My clothes,” said Kenny suddenly. He lifted up and held out his bag to Montague. “You haven’t searched this yet,” he told Montague. “And when you’re done,” Kenny added, “go ahead and put everything with the rest of the dirty clothes.” Kenny nodded his head indicating a pile of clothes in one corner.”  
           Montague took the bag gingerly and unzipped it. A mound of clothes puffed out. Montague looked disapprovingly at the clothes stuffed inside Kenny’s bag. “Take care of your own dirty clothes,” Montague suggested with disgust and dropped the bag in front of Kenny without further touching the contents. Kenny shrugged, picked up the bag and tossed it onto the laundry pile.  
          “Better search my bag, too, while you’re at it!” insisted Vernon suddenly while removing the bag from his back. He hastily unzipped it and held it open under the Headmaster’s nose.   
          The Headmaster frowned and peered inside. “Yes, well, you’re not likely to carry it around with you are you?”  
          “That’s true, sir,” agreed Vernon, “but in this case there’s nothing in there because we didn’t do it!” Vernon took his bag back and zipped it securely closed. “Whoever you talked to is totally wrong!”  
          “You probably should search the bathrooms down the hall too, just in case,” Kenny suggested dryly. “And the trash... I wouldn’t want you to accuse us of hiding stolen stuff somewhere else later…”  
          “Those places _are_ being searched,” informed the Headmaster primly. “I have the janitor doing it right now. We’ll remain here until the full search of the campus is completed.”  
          Kenny shrugged. “That could take a while,” he told them. Then he bent down and rummaged through the disorganized books. “I’ve schoolwork to do,” he announced as he selected a book, “so if you don’t mind…” Kenny sat down on his bed and opened the book.  
          “Me too,” said Vernon following his lead and pulled out the English assignment he had been reading. “Want a seat?” he offered clearing off one of the chairs Montague had so exuberantly covered with searched items. Both the Headmaster and Montague shook their heads. Vernon shrugged. He sat down on his bed and determinedly looked at the writing on the page. He couldn’t remember a word printed there but it was better than standing around doing nothing…  
          After a while Trevors and Pittman returned. “Nothing!” Trevors announced breathlessly while he handed the key to the Headmaster. “We even checked the trash and the stadium!” The Headmaster looked at the key and returned it to Kenny who promptly put it back in his pocket.  
          “It wasn’t us!” repeated Vernon looking up from his English.  
          “Perhaps,” conceded the Headmaster, “but we shall wait for the janitor’s report as well.”  
          Montague reached out for some of the biscuits now on Vernon’s bed. “May I?” he politely asked while his eyes dared Kenny to refuse.  
          “Sure, go ahead,” replied Kenny scarcely looking up from his reading. Montague grabbed some more and passed them out to Trevors and Pittman. They both quickly unwrapped theirs and started eating. “Want one?” Montague asked offering one to the Headmaster. He frowned and shook his head. Montague shrugged and tucked the biscuit into his pocket.  
          For a while, all Vernon could hear was the crinkling sound of paper and the loud munching of Montague, Trevors and Pittman eating. A sharp buzz sounded. Headmaster Portermeyer reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. “Yes?” he said into the phone. “Thank you.” The Headmaster returned the phone to his pocket. “It would seem that there are no such items to be found on the campus,” he told the group. “The villager is definitely mistaken in his identification.” Vernon gave a mental sigh of relief. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” he told Vernon and Kenny, “but, as I said before, the gentleman was very convincing. Now I shall be able to say with absolute certainty that our students are not involved in these crimes.” Mr. Portermeyer looked around the room with sudden disapproval. “I must be leaving now,” he added. “Help them clean this up,” he instructed.  
          “Yes, sir,” said Montague promptly. He bent, picked up a pillow and returned it neatly to Kenny’s bed. Trevors and Pittman also reached out and picked something up. Mr. Portermeyer turned and left the room. The moment Mr. Portermeyer vanished from sight Montague dropped the second pillow he had picked up. “You may be cleared of charges for now,” he said coldly, “but I am _not_ cleaning your room!” Trevors and Pittman promptly dropped the things they had picked up as well. They fell with a clatter onto the floor. “Inspection at 7 a.m. tomorrow!” Montague added. He reached out, grabbed some more biscuits and strode swiftly from the room. Pittman and Trevors also reached out and grabbed a healthy sized handful of treats from the tin on the bed.  
          “Good stuff,” announced Pittman with a grin grabbing an extra handful. “Thanks!” He exited following Trevors and Montague leaving Vernon and Kenny alone with the mess.

 **********

          Vernon breathed a sigh of relief when everyone had left. “I’m glad that’s over with,” he commented aloud. He’d rather do his own picking up than have Montague and crew stick around to help.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Kenny. “Now, what do we do with the stuff I found?”  
          Vernon froze. “Stuff?” he questioned warily.  
          “Yeah. I forgot my locker key so I came back to get it,” began Kenny. “I was running late so I went into the closet to get my spare change of track clothes to put on and found this bag in the corner of the closet behind our shoes… Light gray, about the size of a pillowcase, full of rings and stuff…”  
          Vernon could feel his blood run cold at the description. “What’d you do with it?” he asked cautiously knowing if the bag was ever found in their possession they were in big, big, trouble!  
          “Only thing I could think of,” replied Kenny walking over to the laundry pile. “I stuffed it into my bag with my things and rushed to practice. Then I saw you with Montague and the others so I came over to see what was going on…” Kenny lifted the bag that held his change of clothes. He removed the clothes that poked out and then pulled out a gray bag.  
          “And you asked Montague to search your bag?” Vernon asked in disbelief weak with the realization of how close Montague had come to finding it…  
          “They were actually _clean_ clothes,” Kenny explained, “but I figured Montague wouldn’t want to touch them if he thought they were _dirty,_ especially after I practically shoved them under his nose as if I _wanted_ him to dig through the bag. Like the Headmaster said, it’s not as if we’d be likely to carry that stuff around with us…”  
          “Yeah,” agreed Vernon and shuttered.  
          “So what do we do with them?”  
          Vernon dipped a hand into the bag and turned the contents over thoughtfully. “We can’t just turn them to the administration,” he mused aloud. “Headmaster Portermeyer would never believe us.”  
          “Send them anonymously to the police station?”  
          “I don’t know,” replied Vernon worriedly. “They’ve got all sorts of ways to identify where things come from and who sent them…” Suddenly he froze. There was something in the bottom of the bag, something he recognized. Vernon swallowed nervously. “I think we should get the bag to Cousin Harry,” he told Kenny. “He’ll know what to do…”

**********

          Harry Potter carried the cardboard box into the living room. “What’s that?” asked Ginny looking up from the paper she was reading.  
          “Stan just dropped it off,” he told her. “It’s from Vernon. He told Stan to tell me it was important.”  
          “Really? What is it?”  
          Harry set the box down and pulled off the envelope attached to the top. He opened it and read the brief message. “Vernon says these are some things they found in their room. They are items that were apparently stolen from around the village. He’s hoping I can help him return the items to their owners…”  
          “Seriously?” scoffed Ginny as Harry opened the box. “That sounds like a totally Muggle matter and none of our business!”  
          Harry removed the packing material and opened the gray bag inside the box. “Normally,” he began in a conversational tone as he peered into the bag, “I would agree with you.” He reached a hand into the bag and grasped something within, something with a faintly warm and friendly feeling. “But this time, I think he had the right idea…” Harry withdrew the item and held it out to Ginny.  
          Her mouth literally dropped open. “That’s a _wand!_ ” Ginny said blankly when she managed to close her mouth again.  
          “Yes,” agreed Harry dryly. “Not only that, it’s _Holly’s_ wand!”


	22. Chapter 22

          “You push the “power” button _after_ you plug it in,” said Hilbert John Bartholomew Montague the Third patiently.  
          “Oh,” said the substitute janitor. His name was Willis, Woods, Wolfe, Warf, something like that. The janitor pushed the “power” button and literally jumped back when the vacuum roared to life. Hilbert rolled his eyes upwards and pressed his lips together to keep from making a sarcastic remark. The substitute janitor was a real idiot! Jeffries, the regular janitor had unexpectedly won a two-week trip, all expenses paid, to Sicily. Of course, he jumped at the opportunity and left immediately. Hilbert couldn’t even begin to fathom Portermeyer’s logic in hiring this _lout_ during the interim. The guy was barely older than himself and didn’t even know what to do with the electrical outlet once he found it! Hilbert was fairly certain the guy was equally “knowledgeable” in the use other cleaning equipment as well. But that was not his problem. Unfortunately, the last thing Jeffries had done before he left was to re-key the whole campus and this janitor now held the Master Key.  
          Of course, Hilbert could always pick the locks he wanted but it was much easier when he had a copy of the Master Key. That was why Hilbert had volunteered to show the new janitor the “ropes.” Hilbert figured that in doing so, he would get a few moments with the Master Key so he could make a copy. Hilbert had gotten his chance after he had shown the janitor how to work a double lock and while the janitor was figuring out what the electric cord was. Now, with Master Key imprint in hand, all that remained was to stick around a sufficient length of time so it would appear Hilbert had done as promised…  
          “This really picks up the dirt, doesn’t it?” said the new janitor admiringly as he moved the vacuum across the floor.  
          “Yeah,” answered Hilbert dryly. “Just like magic.” As if anyone could be actually impressed with the workings of a vacuum cleaner.  
          “No!” corrected the janitor seriously. “Not like magic. But it still works pretty good.”  
          “How’s it going, Lenny?” Hilbert looked up and saw a strange girl standing in the doorway—a really _hot_ girl, slender, with brown eyes, blue and gold bangly earrings, and wavy black hair tied back with a bright red scarf. She was dressed in tight jeans and a knotted denim jacket that revealed lots of smooth dark skin beneath.  
          The janitor’s eyes lit up. “Raven!” he greeted. “What are you doing here?”  
          “I got bored,” Raven replied in a petulant sounding voice. She moved forward and casually sat on the professor’s desk. Hilbert couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Hi there,” she said in this sexy voice while looking Hilbert carefully over.  
          “Uh, this is Raven, my girl,” said Lenny. “Raven, this is Mr. Montague, one of the students.  
          “Pleased to meet you,” Raven said warmly and held out a hand.  
          “The pleasure is all mine,” replied Hilbert as he took the hand, lifted it gently and kissed its back.  
          “Hmmm,” she purred with pleasure. “Are all the students at Smeltings so gallant?”  
          “Only those within sight,” replied Hilbert easily. However did an idiot such as that janitor pick up a dish such as this?  
          Raven laughed. It was such a musical sound that Hilbert briefly considered pursuing Raven some day when the janitor was not around but discarded the idea. It was always a good idea to keep the “help” happy.  
          “Mr. Montague was showing me where to go and what to do as janitor,” explained Lenny.  
          “Well, perhaps he could do the same for me,” suggested Raven coyly.  
          “Huh?” Hilbert was caught by surprise by the seemingly open invitation.  
          “I’m new here,” Raven explained. “What does a girl do in the evening?”  
          “Lots of things,” laughed Hilbert. “If you know where to go…”  
          “And where might that be?”  
          “I’d be happy to show you, that is, if you don’t mind,” Hilbert answered graciously but deferring to Lenny. If Lenny said “no,” they could always take up the conversation again when Lenny wasn’t around to disapprove…  
          “Go ahead,” replied Lenny good-naturedly. “I’m new here too,” he admitted. “I don’t know where to go either. When Raven gets back she can show me all the places to go…”  
          “Of course,” agreed Raven readily. She hopped off the desk and straightened her knotted jacket a bit. The effort succeed only in emphasizing her shapely bust and skinny waist. “See you later!” Raven told Lenny cheerfully while moving up and taking Hilbert’s elbow. She was warm and smelled sweet and lemony.  
          Hilbert immediately turned and guided Raven to the door. “You get off at eight, right?” he called out to Lenny.  
          “Yes, eight,” confirmed Lenny. Hilbert smiled. Two hours. One could get a lot accomplished in a couple of hours…

**********

          Hilbert John Bartholomew Montague the Third made sure Raven had a good time. He took her sight-seeing, then dancing and finished by treating her to an ice cream soda. After which Hilbert returned Raven to Smeltings and a waiting janitor. It was all very innocent with promises of more interesting things to come.  
          The next night Hilbert sat in his room putting the finishing touches of a term paper when he heard a knock on the door. He answered it and saw Raven standing there holding a brown paper bag. She looked as ravishing as before.  
          “I’m bored,” she announced stepping into his room. “Lenny’s busy working and I’m not!”  
          “How, uh, did you find me?” questioned Hilbert as he closed the door behind Raven.  
          “I asked,” she replied simply. “Everyone knows Mr. Montague.”  
          She sat comfortably on his bed and dug into the paper bag. “I brought us a little something to share,” she told Hilbert. “You gave me such a good time last night, I thought I’d return the favor.” Raven drew out two dark brown bottles, sealed, but with no label. “Special home brew,” she announced as she placed her thumb under the cap and popped the lid. A tantalizing odour of roasted malt and something Hilbert couldn’t quite identify arose from the bottle. “Butterbeer,” Raven said handing the bottle to Hilbert. She opened the second bottle. “Cheers!” she said holding her bottle out to Hilbert.  
          “Cheers,” replied Hilbert and obligingly “clinked” bottles with Raven. Then he took a tentative sip while she drank deeply.  
          “Not bad,” Hilbert pronounced as he ran the flavours over his tongue trying to identify the tastes. “Not bad at all.”  
          Raven smiled. “I knew you’d like it,” she told him and took a second drink. Hilbert took a second drink too, a much longer swallow.  
          “Actually, I came to you because I was scared to be alone,” confessed Raven cradling the bottle in her hand.  
          “Afraid?” questioned Hilbert. “Of what?”  
          “I heard there were _thieves_ at Smeltings!” replied Raven worriedly. “I’m afraid for Lenny and for myself. I don’t want to be all alone…”  
          “You’ve nothing to be afraid of while at Smeltings,” assured Hilbert after taking another drink. “The campus is perfectly safe.”  
          “But the thieves!”  
          “There are no thieves at Smeltings!” assured Hilbert again. _“None that I don’t control!”_ he amended mentally.  
          “But I heard there were two, in Smeltings uniforms…”  
          “They weren’t Smelting students,” he assured her.  
          “How do you know?”  
          “Who sets out to steal while wearing highly noticeable Smeltings uniforms?” began Hilbert. “I mean there are some slow students at Smeltings but even they would know better than to do that. And I saw the list of stolen items. Cheap watches, costume jewelry, and a few wallets—no respectable thief would go for those items. The whole thing was an attempt to blacken the Smeltings name and a lousy one at that…”  
          “Seriously?” Hilbert nodded confidently. “But who would do such a thing and why?”  
          “I don’t exactly know who,” answered Hilbert, “but I have a good idea why.”  
          “You do?” said Raven with obvious delight. “Tell me!” she wheedled.  
          “Nope!” Hilbert said after finishing the bottle of butterbeer and tossing the empty container in his wastebasket. It was actually quite good! “I’m not one to snog and tell,” he announced firmly. “Speaking of which, would you like to snog?”  
          Raven laughed musically as she pulled out two more bottles of butterbeer and opened one for each of them. “Butterbeer first,” she told him, “then we can discuss snogging…”

**********

          Wizard Daniel Pilkington straightened out his dress robes one more time as he waited for the first arrivals at his charity ball. He had rented a centrally located Muggle business establishment in a fairly empty neighborhood for his ball. Some extension spells had transformed a bare two-room office interior into a spacious ballroom and stage with a side chamber for snacks, quieter talk and auction items. Terika had outdone herself in decorations this year.  
          The event promised to be a rousing success. Daniel had acquired the services of numerous bands, both popular and unknown, to provide a variety of music throughout the night. Daniel also had a variety of donated food prepared by known and starting chefs ready to serve. He liked to give budding musicians and entrepreneurs a start—if they made good, they always remembered who helped them first. Aside from the usual drink donations and acquisitions, Wizard Ercwlff had been kind enough to donate four cases of Sorbi and one of Sabois. Given how popular Sorbi had become, Daniel was certain they would run out of very quickly. The Sabois was for his guests of honour.  
          A huge limousine rolled silently up. That would be his guests of honour. Rupert Shunpike got out and swiftly opened the back door. Out stepped Mr. and Mrs. Owens, their son Mark, and Becky Smith, survivors of the horrific summer explosion. They all looked the perfect picture of health, an amazing feat considering the extensive injuries they had endured. Ticket sales increased dramatically when word got out that they would be coming. People wanted to see and touch them in hopes their incredible luck would rub off onto them.  
          “Welcome, welcome!” greeted Daniel warmly. “Thank you so much for coming!” Rita Skeeter’s camera flashed as they shook hands. She stood on the side ready to photograph all the visiting dignitaries as they arrived. “How was the ride?” he inquired curiously. Knowing none of them would ever travel by portkey again Daniel arranged transportation for them by limo.  
          “Smooth as silk,” reported Mr. Owens.  
          “Not at all like the Knight Bus,” added Mrs. Owens cheerfully. Mr. Owens looked stiff and uncomfortable in his dress robes but Mrs. Owens positively glowed with excitement and flushed when Daniel held her hand up to his lips. They had never attended one of Daniel’s balls, and certainly not as the featured guests of honour.  
          “May I present to you my wife, Terika,” introduced Daniel turning to Terika. She wore a form fitting peacock blue gown with a peacock eye robe. A single blue teardrop stone hung from her neck.  
          “It is such an honour to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Owens,” Terika purred. She was good with people. “I have something for you both,” she added.  
          “For us?” questioned Mr. Owens in surprise.  
          “Yes,” she replied with a smile. “Just this way.” Terika led them to a small table nearby. From it she presented Mr. Owens with a stylish gold buttoner and Mrs. Owens an elegant gold flower corsage, indications that they were guests of honour for the night.  
          Mark Owens and Becky Smith came up next. “Welcome Mr. Owens and Miss Smith!” greeted Daniel shaking each of their hands. “I’m so glad you could make it!” Daniel had to get special permission from Headmistress McGonagall to secure their release from Hogwarts for this event. They made a handsome couple in their formal wear and were clearly thrilled to be there. “Let me introduce you to my wife Terika,” Daniel added guiding them to the table. “Terika, this is Miss Becky Smith and Mr. Mark Owens,” he said completing the introductions.  
          “An honour indeed,” said Terika warmly. “I have something for each of you and then may I show you all inside?”  
          Daniel left the four in Terika’s capable hands and then returned to greeting arrivals. Three experienced aurors arrived and surveyed the scene warily. Then the Minister of Magic Kingsley Shaklebolt, his wife and Wizard Dean Thomas, head of Magical Law Enforcement all appeared, Apparating with a loud _crack!_    Daniel greeted them warmly while ignoring Rita’s flashing camera lights. The Ministry had always been very supportive of his Balls. More Ministry officials arrived with their wives. Several of the Ministry employees showed up as well. Daniel often gave them discounts when they had small legal matters to clear up. Healer Winonan and his wife walked up as did many others of the medical profession. The people at St. Mungo’s always supported his Balls, but this time Daniel suspected Winonan had an alternate reason for coming, to check on the health of his celebrated patients…  
          A battered taxi rolled up and came to a stop. Harry Potter got out of the taxi. Rita moved up closer and began taking photos. Mr. Potter had declined Daniel’s offer of the limousine preferring to make his own travel plans. That was expected. Mr. Potter clearly did not like the fanfare due a person of his hero status. He wore a black suit and his usual plain black robes, totally out of place in a gala event such as this. Mr. Potter looked around warily and frowned at Rita’s flashing camera before turning and helping Mrs. Ginny Potter out of the taxi. She wore a form fitting maroon gown trimmed with gold and blue braid and a sky blue cape. The ensemble totally showed off Mrs. Potter’s slender figure and highlighted her burnished red hair. Daniel had never seen her look better.  
          Behind her came Holly Wycliff, Daniel’s other guest of honour. Holly wore a colourful ball gown, consisting of a light orange underskirt, pale pink top, sky blue overskirt trimmed with bright purple sashes and rosettes. Her beaded braids swung freely out from beneath the matching lacy blue and purple rosette headband. It was a stunning outfit and sure to make the front pages of the _Prophet._  
          Still very reclusive, Daniel doubted the Potters would be there at all were it not for Holly. It had taken all of Daniel’s persuasive powers to gain Mr. Potter’s very reluctant consent for Holly to attend the Ball. Sir was still out there and Mr. Potter took his role as guardian very seriously. Daniel had several security features in place to protect attending dignitaries; Dean had even more because of the Minister of Magic, but Daniel was certain that Mr. Potter and his friends (past members of Dumbledore’s Army) were making an appearance specifically to help insure Holly’s safety.  
          Ticket sales almost doubled after it became known Holly would be coming. Daniel wasn’t sure how Mr. Potter had convinced her to do it, but Holly’s brief visit to Diagon Alley and her genuine appreciation of the people there had left a lasting impression. Everyone wanted to see the cheerful beaded girl who had survived the unimaginable. She didn’t look so cheerful today. In fact, Holly looked rather pale and apprehensive as she stepped forward holding Sasha in her arms.  
          “Welcome, Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter” greeted Daniel stepping forward. “I’m so glad you could come.” Mr. Potter nodded wordlessly.  
          “A pleasure to be here,” assured Mrs. Potter. She held out her hand and Daniel touched it lightly with his lips. Then he kissed the back of Holly’s offered hand.  
          “You look marvelous,” Daniel assured Holly warmly. “How are you?”  
          “Fine,” she whispered while holding Sasha even closer with her other hand and looking nervously about.  
          “Have you met my wife, Terika?” Daniel questioned smoothly as Terika stepped forward.  
          “No,” whispered Holly.  
          “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Wycliff,” greeted Terika and she attached the gold corsage she was holding onto Holly’s dress, one more splash of colour. “Let me show you inside,” she continued and the four walked inside.  
          Daniel remained without to greet the rest of his guests. There were so many of them this year. Daniel welcomed each and everyone by name trying his best to make him or her feel uniquely special. Terika reappeared presently and did her part in greeting the guests as well.  
          A black antique carriage rolled up—presumably pulled by thestrals, but Daniel had never seen thestrals. The door swung open and Mr. Lucius Malfoy stepped out. Daniel had sent the Malfoys complimentary tickets for their assistance in clearing the name of Sirius Black. He was both surprised and pleased when they sent word they intended to come.  
          Daniel got another boost in ticket sales when he spread the word that the Malfoys would be attending. Several Slytherins who had never before attended suddenly purchased tickets. Wizard Flint had written a most enthusiastic account of how he had met two very famous wizards on the same day in Daniel’s office and it looked like the _Prophet_ had printed every word. Rumor abounded as to what Potter and Malfoy were doing in Pilkington’s office and why the Malfoys suddenly decided to attend his ball…  
          Mr. Malfoy wore a tailored dark green suit with gold accents and a dark green wizard robe with gold embroidery that seemed to swirl with every movement. Ignoring Rita’s flashing camera, he turned and helped Narcissa Malfoy out of the carriage. She wore a simple emerald green gown that flowed about her as she walked.  
          Daniel stepped forward. “I am honoured that you came, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,” he told them bowing slightly in greeting. Mr. Malfoy nodded without comment.  
          “Thank you,” said Mrs. Malfoy coolly offering Daniel her hand. He took it gently and raised it to his lips, as expected.  
          “Won’t you come this way,” Daniel suggested leading the two into the hall. He knew the Malfoys would consider a personal escort their due and Daniel wanted no ill will generated at his events. There were only a handful of guests who had not yet arrived. Terika could manage them easily. Daniel would seek each out and greet them individually later.

**********

          Daniel Pilkington led the Malfoys through the entryway and into the dance hall. The music was already going full tilt and several guests were on the floor dancing. The Malfoys sniffed disdainfully at the modern music so Daniel continued his tour leading them past the tables and chairs on the sides into the room with refreshments. He pointed out the auction items on the far side while leading them up to the drinks. Daniel picked up a glass of Sorbi for himself drinking deeply; his throat was dry from all those greetings. The two passed the Sorbi and each selected a glass filled with the more expensive elf made wine that Daniel had stocked in anticipation of their arrival. Then the couple critically surveyed the wide range of h’ordorves and canapés available for consumption. Mrs. Malfoy finally selected a truffle sandwich to sample and Mr. Malfoy picked up a scotch egg with caviar. Daniel left the two under the admiring care of Wizard Flint, who had happily accepted two tickets in lieu of payment for services rendered that day in his office. Flint wasn’t the best of company, but Daniel had no doubt the Malfoys could handle him easily; he had to check on his other guests and make sure the evening was running smoothly.  
          He spotted the Owens quickly; they were on the other side of the room having a discussion with Minister Shackleton. Becky was in the hall dancing with one of the musicians (not his time to perform) and Mark sat on the side with a plate full of canapés conversing with several junior Minister employees. Daniel found Holly standing against the opposite wall of the hall shaking hands with a Hufflepuff from Diagon Alley. A series of tables had been pushed around Holly making an improvised barrier between her and the crowds. There was a single opening between the tables so one could go to talk with Holly. Mr. and Mrs. Potter sat at a table near the opening greeting those came in to talk with Holly. Holly looked uncomfortable. Her face was still white and she held her cat close while she talked. Daniel nodded pleasantly to Mr. and Mrs. Potter and moved up to Holly.  
          “Hey?” he said lightly with a smile. “How are things going?”  
          “Fine,” Holly replied tightly.  
          “Can I get you something? Some Sabois, perhaps?”  
          “No! uh, No, thank you,” she amended. “I’m fine,” Holly repeated firmly though she didn’t look all that fine.  
          “Dear?” Daniel looked up. Terika stood on the other side of the tables. “Time,” she reminded him. Daniel nodded. The music had stopped; it was his turn to talk.  
          “Excuse me,” he told Holly and moved to the front of the hall. Climbing onto the stage, Daniel drew out his wand and pointed it towards his throat.  
          “May I have everyone’s attention please?” he began and waited for people to make their way into the hall to listen. “Welcome everyone!” Daniel thanked everyone for coming and giving their support. He told a couple of jokes, introduced his special guests of honour, acknowledged the musicians and various donors, reminded the group to check out the auction items and finished by telling everyone to eat, drink and have a good time. Daniel kept his speeches as short as possible; no one liked long speeches.  
          A new band started performing; people moved out onto the floor and began dancing and Daniel returned to making the rounds. Rita was circulating too, intent in taking photos, no doubt looking for the shot that would sell the most papers. Daniel started from the opposite side of the room to avoiding her camera as much as possible. She had already taken enough photos of him when the dignitaries had arrived. Daniel noted several clusters of witches and wizards, in groups of two and three, conversing within the two rooms... Some were proprietors probably discussing business. Others were Ministry members no doubt discussing politics. There were also groups Daniel knew to be friends and associates just socializing and chatting with each other.  
          The Owens’ were seated at a table talking animatedly with several Hufflepuff proprietors from Diagon Alley. Mark and Becky were seated next to them, each with a plate of food and a bottle of Sabois in hand, politely listening and trying to look interested. They looked rather bored. Daniel was not surprised. It was an adult Ball not intended for Hufflepuff students. He pondered what he could do to liven things up for them. Perhaps he could introduce them to some of the younger musicians performing that night…  
          Wizard Thomas was seated next to Mr. Potter—the two were no doubt discussing Sir. Mr. Potter had been focused on nothing else since the Holly’s escape. Holly sat near the two, with a plate of h’ordorves and an unopened bottle of Sabois in front of her, looking forlorn and alone. Strange how Holly wasn’t with Becky and Mark, but perhaps that was Mr. Potter’s doing, so he could better protect her. Daniel looked again at Holly’s white face and puzzled over why she looked so distressed. It couldn’t be the people; Diagon Alley had been full of people and Holly had, if reports were to be believed, danced gaily through the streets there…  
          Wizard Thomas left. The music changed tempo and Mrs. Potter came up. Daniel could see the longing in her eyes. He stepped forward. “Go ahead, dance with your wife,” he suggested. “I’ll stay with Holly.”  
          Mr. Potter looked worriedly at Holly. She nodded at him then Mr. Potter turned to Daniel. “We won’t be long,” he told him, “Just one dance…” Mr. Potter stood and took his wife’s hand. She flashed him a grateful smile and they walked out on the dance floor.  
          Daniel pulled out a chair and sat next to Holly. “You don’t have to stay,” he told her. “I can make arrangements for you to return to Hogwarts tonight, _now!_ ” he added. “I’m sure the Potters won’t mind…” He didn’t know why Holly was upset but it was clear something was wrong. Perhaps leaving would help.  
          “I can’t!” Holly whispered back suddenly not even arguing that she wanted to leave. “There’s too many emotions!”  
          “Huh?”  
          “No!” moaned Holly abruptly before Daniel could work out the emotion statement. “No! No! No! No! No! No! No! **_NO!_ ”** Holly fell out of her chair dropping to the floor; at the same time Daniel heard the crackle and boom of a wand explosion and the whole room erupted in spells!  
          Daniel dropped to the floor. _“Protego!”_ he shouted drawing his wand using the spell to protect both Holly and himself from the flying magic.  
          A loud explosion shook the room causing a momentary pause in all the spell-casting. Chandelier glass and bits of plaster fell in a shower from the ceiling. **“This is a _Ball_ room not a _brawl_ room!”** came a voice loud enough to be heard over all the other noise. Looking from beneath the table Daniel saw the tall figure of Lucius Malfoy standing on a table in the center of the room. (How had a table gotten there?) Mr. Malfoy's wand was out and and he looked disdainfully at everyone. **“If you must fight,”** continued Mr. Malfoy icily, **“take it _outside!”_**  
          Daniel looked at Holly. Her terrified green eyes met his and the strong odor of eucalyptus filed his nostrils. _“Holly’s new wand!”_ Daniel thought automatically remembering how Leila had complained about it in one of her letters. _“If Holly’s casting spells, she must be O.K.,”_ Daniel decided. He pocketed his wand and stood shakily up. “You heard him,” Daniel said loudly as he dusted himself off. “Take it outside!” He surveyed the room now filled with numerous scorch marks, evidences of spell blasts. “And if you intend to stay,” Daniel added, “you can help clean up.”  
          That did the trick. Witches and wizards all started moving, most of them towards the door. No one liked cleaning up. Those that remained, started picking things up; setting chairs back in place, mending things, repairing walls…  
          “Anyone injured, come see me,” said Healer Winonan loudly. “I’ve my bag and I’ll be in the next room,” he added as he moved towards the door to the other room.  
          Harry Potter pushed through the crowds. His wife Ginny followed closely behind. Both had their wands out ready for use. _“Holly?”_ he mouthed worriedly when he caught Daniel’s eyes.  
          “Fine,” Daniel assured him. “You can get up now, Holly,” he added looking down and extending a hand to the person under the table. Holly took his hand and Daniel pulled gently. Relief flooded Mr. Potter’s face when he saw Holly standing up besides Daniel, her cat held tightly in her arms. “I’ve got to go see to my other guests, now,” Daniel told Holly letting go of her hand, “but can you stick around awhile? I’ve something to ask you.” She nodded wordlessly and buried her face in Sasha’s fur. “Excuse me,” Daniel said to the Potters and moved out into the room to check on his other guests.  
          Terika greeted Daniel with a warm hug letting him know she was fine and then went back to directing the clean-up with her usual efficiency. Minister of Magic Shakleton was busy pushing a broom—gotta to love a Minister that would pitch in and help. The Owens had singe marks on their clothes but were otherwise fine, also busy straightening. Mark and Becky were cleaning the scorch marks from the walls looking much more energized than they had before. Wizard Thomas reported that a Gryffindor and a Slytherin had gotten into an argument over who got the last bottle of Sorbi—the Slytherin was not happy about loosing... A quick check with Healer Winonan reassured Daniel that there had been no serious injuries—more flash than fire in this case. That was good.  
          Daniel moved swiftly back to Holly. She was straightening the chairs and the Potters were repairing the tables in the same area. “I’d like a private word with Holly, if I may,” Daniel told the Potters quietly. Mr. Potter nodded. The two stepped away and began picking up elsewhere. Holly stopped what she was doing and looked questioningly at Daniel. She looked a lot less anxious and distressed.  
          “Holly,” Daniel began hesitantly. How did one word this? “When you said there were too many emotions, what did you mean by that?”  
          She shrugged. “Too many,” she repeated.  
          Daniel tried again. “Like how many?”  
          Holly bent down, picked up Sasha and cradled her in her arms. The cat immediately began a loud purr. “All?” she whispered.  
          Daniel took a deep breath. “Mine?” he asked cautiously.  
          “Yes, of course,” Holly assured him. That was the problem. With all the preparations going on, Daniel had forgotten to “drop” his Occlumency for Holly.  
          “Even now?” Daniel questioned to be sure.  
          “Yes? What is it?”  
          Daniel bit back the “nothing” he would have told anyone else knowing Holly would read it as a “lie” it would have been and instead asked, “Was there anyone here whose emotions you _didn’t_ sense?”  
          Holly buried her face in Sasha’s fur. “That man,” she whispered softly.  
          “What man?”  
          “The one who stopped the fight,” Holly added explaining. “I couldn’t sense anything from him, anything at all… He’s Slytherin,” Holly continued hesitantly. “I know he doesn’t look anything like him, but do you suppose he could be,” she broke off, gulped fearfully and continued, “could be … _Sir_ in disguise?”  
          “Malfoy?” questioned Daniel in disbelief. No one would ever take Malfoy for a deranged kidnapper. Daniel looked closely at Holly. She was serious and seriously afraid. “I don’t think so,” answered Daniel honestly. But Holly was clearly not reassured by his words. “In fact, I _know_ he’s not,” Daniel added confidently. “Didn’t you have Sir prisoner while you were casting your patronus?” Holly nodded wordlessly. “Well Mr. Malfoy was in my office conducting business the day before you started sending that patronus upwards. Your Cousin Mr. Potter saw him there,” Daniel continued, “and if you don’t believe me, Wizard Flint was working for me that day and wrote an account of himself and the two that got printed in the _Prophet_.” Holly’s eyes widened at the mention of Wizard Flint.  
          Oh, yeah! She knew! Or knew now! Daniel had been curious as to how much Mr. Potter had told Holly concerning her rescue, obviously enough to keep her quiet about things she shouldn’t say but probably nothing else and certainly nothing that would get anyone else into trouble with the law. That was Mr. Potter’s way.  
          Harry Potter gave no reason why he wanted Daniel to arrange an _immediate_ meeting with Wizard Malfoy that day but none was necessary. Harry had just revealed Holly was “alive” and was clearly desperate to find her. A meeting with Wizard Malfoy indicated Harry intended something, not necessarily illegal, but definitely “shady” in nature. Daniel immediately noticed the coat left behind and guessed it was intended for a simple “drop” maneuver of some sort. Mr. Potter’s request later that day that he “arrange” for Flint to be in the office before 4:00pm was certainly curious but Daniel asked no questions realizing that if he got answers, he may have to report something illegal to the officials…  
          Holly set down her cat and straightened with determination. Then she moved out from behind the tables and headed straight for Wizard Malfoy. Daniel hastened to follow.  
          The Malfoys had decided to remain behind, but unlike the other wizards and witches, they had elected to not clean but instead decided to … _eat!_ Each held a plate piled high with food in one hand and a glass of elf made wine with the other. They were imperiously watching the others clean around them. Lucius Malfoy saw Holly coming towards him and looked at her with surprise and disbelief. He managed to set both plate and glass down before Holly reached the wizard and enveloped him in a tight hug!  
          “Thank you!” she said clearly while not releasing her hold.  
          “Huh?” Wizard Malfoy looked confused and distinctly uncomfortable by the attention he was receiving. The Malfoys were not the kind to openly display or receive affection.  
          “Thank you for saving me, saving _us!_ ” Holly corrected though Daniel suspected the “me” was the word more intended. “I was so alone and scared,” Holly continued, “by all the spells!” she added almost as an afterthought.  
_“Ha!”_ thought Daniel. She had to be referring to when she had been captive.  
          “…and you … you…” Holly broke off clearly too choked up with emotion. “Thank you _so_ much!” Wizard Malfoy’s hands seem to wrap around Holly of their own accord. It was an awkward movement and didn’t look like something he had ever done on a regular basis.  
          The blinding flash of a bright light destroyed the moment. “Front page for sure!” Rita announced with satisfaction holding up her camera.  
          Daniel shuttered. He could envision the headline now: _Malfoy Stops Riot at Pilkington Ball!_ Not the kind of headline he had envisioned for the night. Still, publicity was publicity and it didn’t get much better than front-page news. Besides, he already had a head start on collecting auction items for the next year…


	23. Chapter 23

          Wizard Dean Thomas, Head of Magical Law Enforcement took a deep breath, straightened and knocked lightly on the opened door. “Have you some time?” he asked the person within. Dean knew he did having checked the schedule first before asking.  
          “Yes, of course,” replied Minister of Magic Kingsley Shaklebolt genially. “Come in.”  
          Dean did so closing the door behind him. Kingsley raised an eyebrow at that knowing a closed door signaled a matter more private in nature than not. “Want some Sorbi?” questioned Kingsley pulling out a couple of bottles from a desk drawer.  
          “Yes, please,” said Dean with relief and he sat down across from Kingsley. Dean really didn’t want to have this conversation and the Sorbi would enable him to stall a bit before beginning. The two opened their respective bottles. Dean closed his eyes and drank deeply. Dean loved the cooling sensation that flowed down his throat recalling him to carefree times back at Hogwarts. When he opened his eyes Dean saw Kingsley regarding him thoughtfully.  
          “What is it?” Kingsley asked.  
          Dean set down his bottle on the desk in front of him. “I got a tip the other day,” he began slowly. “About some wizards who weren’t keeping up with their Occlumency…”  
          “You investigated?”  
          “Yes, of course.”  
          “And?”  
          Dean reached out and took another sip from his bottle, a long sip. “It would seem that the tip was not without merit…”  
          Kingsley sighed in disappointment. “The younger generation,” he began with exasperation, “they just don’t take the rules seriously enough. They don’t get it! Just because there hasn’t been a Dark Wizard attack in over twenty years, doesn’t mean it won’t ever happen again! Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t remain vigilant!”  
          “Yes, sir,” agreed Dean.  
          “You gave notice of course?”  
          “Yes, sir.” That was proper procedure. Notice of failure and a week before retesting…  
          “And? No, don’t tell me, the wizard failed the retest, didn’t he—you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”  
          “Yes, sir,” admitted Dean reluctantly.  
          “Well, who is it?” questioned Kingsley. “I’ll sign the dismissal notice. We can’t permit such sloppiness…” Dean pulled out a rolled parchment and handed it to Kingsley. Kingsley unrolled it and stared at the contents for a very long time.  
          “All of them?” Kingsley finally asked in disbelief. It was a very long list.  
          “Yes, sir,” admitted Dean. There could be more once Dean finished testing everyone else in the Ministry, those not specifically referenced in the tip but he didn’t mention that.  
          “This can’t be possible! I’ve known these people personally for years; some of them are close friends! Some have been in the Ministry for ages! They aren’t the kind to be sloppy; they would never ever! I can’t believe this! Did you double check this?”  
          “Double-checked, triple checked,” answered Dean. “I even had some of the tests done by an independent private tester on the chance it was the test, not the results that was off!”  
          “And?”  
          “The results were the same. No matter who did the test, they failed, every one!” Dean took another drink while Kingsley absorbed the news. It had been a lot for him to take in too.  
          Finally, Kingsley rolled up the parchment and handed it back to Dean. “I can’t believe this,” he told Dean.  
          “But the tests—”  
          “No, I’m sure the tests are correct,” continued Kingsley, “but our conclusions must be wrong. A sloppy junior official is one thing and deserves to be dismissed, but this! It can’t be a coincidence! There can’t be this many failing all at the same time. There must be something else going on…”  
          “Yes, sir, I agree,” replied Dean glad that Kingsley had come to the same conclusion he had.  
          “It’s a major security breach whatever the cause!” Kingsley added. “The whole ministry has been compromised! You must conduct a full investigation into this—how it happened; why no one has noticed it before and how we can prevent it in the future.”  
          “Yes, sir,” agreed Dean whole-heartedly.  
          “And it must be done quietly,” added Kingsley. “I want you to investigate personally and tell no one, _no one,_ what you are up to. Word of this gets out and it could create all sorts of disruption.”  
          “Yes, sir,” agreed Dean. He had been planning to do that anyway but now he had “orders” to that effect. “And these people?” questioned Dean holding up the rolled parchment.  
          “Let’s hold off on the dismissals until your investigation is complete,” concluded Kingsley. “There may be some other forces at work here, some outside factor that needs to be taken into consideration before applying the Occlumency rules…”  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Dean with relief. “I’m uh, glad you feel that way,” he added hesitantly, “because there is one more name that should be added to that list…” Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a small folded piece of paper. He handed it to Kingsley.  
          Kingsley unfolded it and stared a long time at the name written on the piece. “You too?” he finally whispered in disbelief.  
          “Yes, sir,” admitted Dean. “I’ve tried everything I know to pass the test,” he confessed, “but nothing seems to work!”  
          “There has to be an outside cause!” declared Kingsley. “There is no way you would ever—an attack of some sort?” he questioned. “Has anyone reported strange dreams, memory lapses or been seen conducting unusual behavior?”  
          “No, sir,” Dean admitted. “But I’ve told everyone to start keeping journals just in case, myself included.”  
          “That many dismissals at one time could cause a total collapse of the government,” Kingsley mused. “Perhaps that’s the intention! There could be someone out there who set this in motion and is just waiting for the right time to spring his trap!”  
          “Possibly,” admitted Dean, “but I wouldn’t know who. I mean there are a lot of wizards who would happily step into such a void once created but I can’t think of anyone right off capable of doing this in the first place or how it was done, for that matter! And if it wasn’t done to create chaos in the government, then why?”  
          “The tip has to be the key!” exclaimed Kingsley suddenly. “Was it anonymous? Can you trace it? Whoever it was must have seen or heard something that will help us trace this thing to the source!”  
          Dean lifted his Sorbi and took another swallow. “It was Pilkington!” he informed Kingsley.  
          “Pilkington!” exclaimed Kingsley. “Damn! It must be one of his clients. He’ll never cooperate unless the client agrees. On the other hand, I hardly think the client is responsible for this or we’d have never heard of it,” Kingsley mused. “More likely it’s one of Pilkington’s shadier clients who was somewhere he shouldn’t have been and saw or heard something he shouldn’t have. See if you can offer him a deal!” suggested Kingsley. “Immunity if necessary. We’ve got to get this figured out now!”  
          “He got it from Holly!” Dean added when Kingsley had stopped talking.  
          “Holly? Holly Wycliff?”  
          “Yeah. It was something she said at the Ball last week,” continued Dean explaining. “She said there were “too many emotions.”  
          “That’s it?”  
          “Apparently,” confirmed Dean. “And Pilkington, recognizing the large number of Ministry Officials attending the Ball, people who _should_ have been practicing Occlumency, immediately realized something was off so he passed word to me! Holly has no idea the importance of what she said.”  
          “Holly,” mused Kingsley. “This would make sense if she were still a prisoner. Sir could have used her and that room of his to read our emotions without us ever knowing. But Holly’s free so that’s out. Unless…” Kingsley closed his eyes in thought. Then he opened them. “When was the last time anyone on that list had an Occlumency test, I mean _before_ the tip?”  
          “I’ll find out,” replied Dean grimly. The thought that Ministry Security could have been compromised longer than just a few weeks was very disturbing. “There’s one more thing,” he added hesitantly.  
          “Oh?”  
          “You!”  
          “Me?”  
          “Yes, you. You were at the Ball, sir,” reminded Dean. “I think you should get tested…”  
          Kingsley frowned in thought. Dean could tell it had never occurred to Kingsley that he, too, might have been compromised, become a security risk. “No,” Kingsley replied calmly. “I don’t think I will.”  
          “But—”  
          “If I knew with absolute certainty that I was no longer practicing Occlumency then I would be honour bound to step down from this office,” Kingsley explained. “If that is what was intended by all this, then I will not help out. Proceed, however, as if I _have_ been compromised.”  
          “Yes, sir,” replied Dean with relief. He could live with that for now. As head of Magical Law Enforcement, Dean could require that Kingsley take the test but that wasn’t necessary at the moment. “Have _you_ had any strange dreams or moments of confused memories?” Dean asked professionally.  
          “No,” replied Kingsley, “not that I was looking at things in those terms. I will now,” he assured Dean.  
          “And keep a dream journal?”  
          “Of course. And I think I’ll put off making any major decisions until after this is all cleared up.”  
          “That’s a good idea,” replied Dean relieved he didn’t have to make the suggestion. He picked up the bottle of Sorbi, rapidly finished its contents and then set the empty bottle back on the desk. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an investigation to conduct,” said Dean rising from his chair to leave. “Thank you for your time.”  
          “No problem. Keep me informed of your progress.”  
          “Yes, sir!” assured Dean and he left Kingsley’s office.

**********

          Harry Potter knocked firmly on the door. He heard a faint voice from within say, “Enter,” so he opened the door and came in.  
          Dean Thomas, head of Magical Law Enforcement sat inside. “Hallo, Harry,” he greeted standing to shake Harry’s hand. “Have a seat!” Harry nodded, shook hands and then took the offered seat.  
          “What did you learn?” he asked as he took the offered Sorbi and pretended to drink.  
          “A lot and not much,” said Dean picking up the first folder on his desk. “The stolen items in the bag were a dead end,” he informed Harry bluntly.  
          “What? But the bully?” Harry had, of course, immediately visited Smeltings to learn the specific details surrounding the bag of stolen items. Both Kenny and Vernon had been certain Montague had been involved in the matter somehow. Getting a proper investigation done was a bit more problematic. Vernon was still “unplottable” and Harry wanted to keep it that way as much as possible. So Harry insisted on personally approving the aurors assigned to the case knowing they would have to become “secret keepers” to conduct the investigation. He agreed to two he knew who were also known to and trusted by Holly. Only then did Harry privately reveal the details about Vernon’s location.  
          “The bully did not commit the burglaries!” stated Dean with certainty.  
          “But—”  
          “However, he did know who did, rather, who instigated it…” Harry waited for Dean to explain. “It seems that your cousin’s roommate,” Harry had insisted that no one be mentioned by name either verbally or in writing to help maintain Vernon’s unplottable status, “got on the bad side of a young lady from a neighboring school,” began Dean. “The young lady was so angered she hired someone to steal various items from around the neighborhood and place those items in the roommate’s room where they could be found. She did so in the hopes the school would suspend or expel the roommate.”  
          “Who’d she hire?”  
          “Unknown. She never saw the person in question and apparently made the whole deal through something called a telephone…”  
          “Can’t we track him down?”  
          “Been trying to!” replied Dean. “The original contact number the lady used no longer works. The lady has also been looking for him without any luck. She wants her money back as the attempt to discredit the roommate obviously failed. As near as we can tell, the burglar has skipped the country to parts unknown rather than return the money.”  
          “We _were_ able to obtain a copy of the list of stolen items,” continued Dean. “Wands were not on that list nor was anything on that list resembling the shape of wands. In all honesty, I doubt Sir would lodge a complaint about stolen items with Muggle authorities. The aurors checked the houses when we returned the items and they all appeared to be Muggle residences. Then they plotted the locations from where they were originally stolen,” Dean added. “As you can see from this map,” he handed Harry a piece of paper with several boxes drawn on it, some with x’s, “they all came from residents living near the school campus. It’s a good guess that the wands came from that area too,” Dean added. “Unfortunately, the aurors have been unable to find anyone even remotely resembling Sir living in that area… Of course, they didn’t ask anyone directly or plaster the neighborhood with pictures as we didn’t want to alert Sir that we were anywhere near looking for him… They’re still watching for him,” he assured Harry.  
          “And the wands?” questioned Harry. He was extremely disappointed the bag of stolen items hadn’t brought them any closer to capturing Sir.  
          Dean pulled out a new page from his folder. “The three wands you gave us once belonged to a wizard and two witches who were last seen over twenty-five years ago.” He handed the page to Harry while he talked. Harry looked at the three names, which were each followed by a brief biographical paragraph. None of the names were familiar. Dean continued, “At the time, it was assumed they were victims of Lord Voldemort or the Death Eaters but there’s never been any actual proof one way or the other. They’ve just never been seen again, nor their wands, until now. Or maybe the wands were seen but not identified as “their” wands. They could have been found, picked up and sold on the street numerous times between then and now.” Dean looked up at Harry. “Do you think Lord Voldemort kept wands as souvenirs of his victims?” he asked. “Maybe there is a box out there somewhere filled with the wands of Lord Voldemort’s victims, a box Sir found...”  
          Harry closed his eyes and thought. He knew Voldemort liked to keep souvenirs. But Harry had never actually _seen_ Voldemort collect a wand from one of his victims. Malfoy would likely know but Harry was reluctant to ask him for anything else. Would the information get him closer to Sir today? Unlikely. “I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly. “Perhaps he just tossed them along the way.”  
          Dean nodded in agreement. “You say the last one belonged to Holly?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “You’re sure?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “Does she know about it? You didn’t give it back did you?” he asked worriedly.  
          “No,” Harry assured Dean. “You said you didn’t want Sir to know we had retrieved her wand, to know we were in the area looking for him. I’ll keep it safe until you say I can return it to her.”  
          “I still think it should go with the other evidence,” stated Dean. “After all, it is only because of Holly’s wand that they are even connected to Sir…”  
          “I will _not_ have Holly’s personal possessions bagged, tagged or put on display for all to see,” Harry told Dean fiercely _. “Nor my mum’s!”_ Harry continued mentally. Harry had to tell Dean about Holly’s wand to get his cooperation in returning the stolen items but there was no way he would let his mum’s wand get locked up in some evidence pouch. “Besides,” Harry added aloud, “without the thief to connect the wands to a location, they tell us nothing more than that Sir has been there and may still be in the area and we already know that… What about the notes?” questioned Harry changing the subject before it could turn into an argument.  
          “Not much there either,” reported Dean. “Ordinary paper found in several shops in Diagon Alley but none of the proprietors remember seeing Sir in their establishment. Same handwriting, same portrait at the bottom, simple gift easily acquired, box easily conjured, and semi-vague messages that imply he is watching her. Has she received any more?”  
          “One,” Harry answered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled scroll attached to a small box. He handed the two to Dean. The box contained a small, slightly wilted carrot that had arrived bright orange, cold and perfectly fresh. The note suggested Holly eat more vegetables to maintain her health. Holly never saw the note or gift. Albus reported that Holly wouldn’t even look at owl messages now. The Hufflepuffs gave Albus any mail addressed to Holly. He checked it and forwarded anything from Sir directly to Harry and returned the rest to Holly.  
          “Looks like all the rest,” observed Dean regretfully.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Harry, _“except one,”_ he added mentally and he hadn’t given that one to Dean. The gift had been a slim manual on “How to Train House Elves” and the chilling message told Holly to make use of it “while she could.” Harry had never officially told Dean about Winky so Harry withheld both book and message from Dean rather than answer why such a book was sent to Holly.  
          Harry had done his own research on the book; it hadn’t been too hard. The manual was boldly stamped “Ministry of Magic” on the inside and had indeed come from the Ministry of Magic library. The people there hadn’t even noticed it was missing and had certainly never seen Sir within their midst. Harry trusted Dean, but at the moment that was about as far as the trust went. It was clear Sir was able to freely move in and about the Ministry without being seen or he had recruited knowing / unknowing agents to do his bidding. Harry wasn’t sure which was worse.  
          “And the owl?” questioned Dean. There was a chance of tracking an exotic species of owl but not the native ones.  
          “It was a barn owl this time,” Harry replied.  
          “Pity,” said Dean.  
          Harry nodded. “Have you anything else?” he asked returning the papers to Dean.  
          “Not now,” admitted Dean. “But we’re getting closer…”

**********

          “How’d it go?” greeted Ginny as Harry Potter stepped through the door.  
          “Not good,” admitted Harry as he gave her a quick hug. “He’s got to be somewhere in the area but no one’s seen anything…”  
          “That’s too bad,” sympathized Ginny.  
          “Of course, it’s not like the aurors can stand on the street corners and watch everyone pass by…” added Harry regretfully. The secrecy, protecting Vernon’s unplottability, and keeping Sir from knowing what they knew had made the investigation even more difficult.  
          “Mail for you, sir,” announced Kreacher. He stepped forward holding a small package. “It’s from Hogwarts.”  
          “Thank you,” said Harry absently as he took the package. “It’s from Albus,” he announced to no one in particular.  
          “Another message from Sir?” guessed Ginny as Harry opened the letter. It was a logical guess as most of Albus’ letters this year were about Sir…  
          “Yeah,” admitted Harry as he read Albus’ words. “The owl arrived at lunchtime, special delivery,” he told Ginny summarizing the contents of the letter. “Holly flipped out when it flew towards her. She ran out of the hall in a panic and the owl chased after her in an attempt to deliver the message. Albus and Conner had to catch the owl and physically remove the message from its claws before it would fly off.”  
          Harry opened the box, noted the perfect white rose within, inhaled its delicate scent and read the message: “It always _stinks_ when your house looses. Perhaps this will help.” The now familiar image of Snape appeared at the bottom. Harry handed both note and box to Ginny.  
          “This is just cruel!” she exclaimed reading the note and looking at the flower. “Was there a game recently?”  
          “Yeah,” agreed Harry. “Just that morning. Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin. The Hufflepuffs lost rather resoundingly, too, according to Albus. But then they haven’t much of a team this year so no one figured they had a chance to win. In other words, Sir didn’t have to be there to know they lost.” There never seemed to be a way to narrow the pool of people that could be Sir!  
          Harry took the note and box from Ginny and headed up the stairs. He’d give them to Dean later. No need to disturb him again today.  
          It wasn’t right how Sir was tormenting Holly so but Harry could think of nothing to stop it. If only they could catch him! But that hadn’t happened either. Harry knew the aurors had done what they could but it wasn’t enough. Harry was certain Sir was in or around Smeltings, probably in a disguise of some sort; he’d (Harry would) take polyjuice and stand on the street corners himself if he thought he could spot him. But Sir would be leery of strangers in the village and keep out of sight. If only there were some way to watch for Sir without getting caught in the process…  
          Just as bad was the way Sir used the image of Snape to sign his letters. In doing so Sir had turned Holly’s cherished memory into something foul and evil. If only there was some way to turn that around, to use that against him.  
          “You look upset,” commented a voice in the hallway. Harry stopped and looked at Phineas Black.  
          “I am,” he agreed.  
          “Problems at Hogwarts?” Phineas questioned kindly.  
          “No, not Hogwarts, not really,” replied Harry.  
          “Holly?” suggested Phineas with concern.  
          “She’s fine,” admitted Harry reluctantly. “It’s just that,” Harry stopped. He looked at Phineas with new interest. “How do you do it?” he questioned suddenly.  
          “Do what?”  
          “Go in and out of your portraits?”  
          “I just do.”  
          “How does that work? I mean there’s this portrait of Snape I know about but he doesn’t go in and out of it… Or at least he hasn’t. Shouldn’t he be able to?”  
          “That makes sense,” said Phineas thoughtfully while stroking his pointed beard, “but portrait magic isn’t really my thing.  
          “Portrait magic?”  
          “Yes, the art of breathing life into portraits, especially real portraits. You would have to consult a proper portrait artist to learn more about that. Perhaps the one who painted Headmaster Snape could answer your questions, if he’s still alive…”  
          “That is an excellent idea,” said Harry with new energy and determination. “Thank you,” he added.  
          “Any time.”

 **********

          The owner of “Antiques and Curios” slipped a framed portrait into the window display area. He had just gotten it out of a crate from an estate lot purchase recently arrived from Germany though nowhere in the inventory of the lot was there a mention of this particular portrait. Were anyone to ask why he placed the portrait in the window display the owner would have probably shrugged and said, “It seemed like the thing to do,” though in truth, the owner probably preferred the stern face in the portrait with its hawk-like nose, piercing black eyes and stray locks of stringy black hair facing the street instead of staring at him within the shop.  
          Regular passers-by noticed the addition immediately. They stopped and stared at the imposing face that seemed to glare accusingly back and shuttered inwardly privately relieved that the person depicted was not a member of his or her family. Then they ignored the portrait casting their attention instead on the seasonal holiday items placed in front. Festive wreaths, teddy bears with red elf hat, colourful blown glass ornaments, delicate winged fairies, ceramic antique jugs made to look like festive people, the complete carved wooden nativity scene, angelic choir dolls, the holly and berry teapot set, the silver stag’s head hand bell, wooden shoes, the pewter menorah and porcelain dolls were all more interesting to look at than a stodgy old portrait.


	24. Chapter 24

          “You don’t need to go with me,” protested Holly as they went up the stairs. “I’ll be fine…” It was the week before school got out for the holidays and Holly was in Hogsmeade. Paige Crowley had arrived from France two days earlier and Tony Richards had actually arranged a meeting between Holly and Paige upstairs in the Hogshead. He grumbled about the location but The Three Broomsticks Inn was unavailable.  
          “Sir is still out there,” argued Albus. “You may be safe enough wandering alone at Hogwarts but Hogsmeade is a different matter. It’s the perfect place for Sir hang out and if he should spot you what’s to stop him from trying something?”  
_“Winky!”_ answered Holly in her head but she didn’t say that aloud. She knew Winky had saved her with that “Fetch” command and could do so at any time until she reached age 17, but did Albus know about that? Holly didn’t know and wouldn’t mention it if he didn’t. “Mr. Dumbledore will make sure nothing happens,” Holly said instead. “Even Umbridge couldn’t get at me here,” she reminded Albus.  
          “And when you leave?” persisted Albus.  
          “I’ll be fine,” repeated Holly confidently. She reached the top of the stairs and started down the hall looking for the correct door number.  
          “Just give in gracefully,” put in Conner as he followed along. “Albus can be pretty stubborn once he gets something in his head. I should know.”  
          Holly smiled. Conner grumbled a lot about how Albus wouldn’t leave him alone, but when Conner finally realized Albus was serious, that he’d come looking for Conner if he wasn’t around or went missing, Conner’s whole being seemed to relax and much of his paranoia seemed to subside.  
          “Room 6 wasn’t it?” questioned Albus looking at a big heavy door with a grimy piece of wood resembling a “6” nailed onto the surface.  
          “Yes,” agreed Holly stopping in front of the door. She looked at Conner and Albus expectantly. “I’m here, now,” she announced. “All safe and sound…”  
          “Yeah, but is she?” questioned Albus.  
          “Of course she is,” countered Holly. “Why wouldn’t she be?”  
          “She’s Slytherin,” reminded Conner grimly. “They’re tricky…”  
          “Oh, good grief!” said Holly in exasperation. She reached up and knocked on the door. No answer.  
          “Louder,” suggested Conner.  
          Holly knocked louder. Abruptly the door swung open. “Hello?” Holly called out. “Miss Crowley?” There was no answer, no response. Drawing her wand, Holly cautiously stepped inside… Conner and Albus followed.  
          The room seemed empty with the exception of a few pieces of furniture. There was a matched set of carved hardwood settees, one placed against the wall on either side of the room. Though highly polished, they looked hard and uncomfortable. A dark round table sat in the middle of the room with two matching chairs. A single lit candle sat in the center of the table. The candleholder seemed to be in the shape of a snake that twisted and curved sinuously around the candle it held.   
          “Hello?” Albus asked as he looked uncertainly around the room. “It’s empty!” he concluded stating what appeared obvious to all.  
          “Not necessarily,” retorted Conner grimly. Tightening his grip on his wand he pointed it in one corner and said, _“Homo r—”_  
          “Do you intend a meeting or an ambush?” came Paige’s clear cool voice. All three jumped at the sound and swung their wands in the direction of the voice, one of the settees on against the wall. No one was there!  
          “Meow?” Holly turned. Sasha was seated under the _other_ settee, the one against the wall behind them. As Holly watched, Paige appeared draped elegantly on the settee. Her long black hair was coiled up high on her head held in place by a shimmery gold band of some sort. Her back was against one of the armrests, one knee was bent and leaned against the back, the other stretched out along the seat and the skirt part of her dress seemed to flow down over the side of the settee and an end almost, but not quite touched the hardwood floor. Paige’s wand was out and held loosely in one hand, but not actually pointed at them. How had she appeared like that? Had she been using a disillusionment spell? Holly saw none of the telltale liquid dripping down Paige, sign of undoing a disillusionment spell, but she surely hadn’t used an invisible cloak either, not and appear as she had…   
          “Not ambush,” replied Albus coolly, now turned in the right direction as was Conner, “but caution. Sir is still free and I have reason to believe he plans to recapture Holly, if possible…” Holly could feel her blood run cold at his words. Albus’ emotions relayed absolute conviction in his words putting voice to Holly’s own private fears.  
          “Are you alone?” asked Conner bluntly.  
          “Conner!” whispered Holly in embarrassment. “Of course she is! Sasha would tell me otherwise!”  
          “Maybe,” he countered suspiciously, “but she stopped my spell,” he reminded. “And she or someone else could put a spell on your cat...”  
          Sasha looked and felt perfectly normal sitting beneath the settee and Holly was certain she’d know otherwise were a spell put on her but Paige lifted her wand and held it out disarmingly. “Perhaps you should try again,” she suggested invitingly.  
          Conner appraised Paige warily. “I will,” he said and pointed his wand in a corner of the room. _“Homo Revelus!”_ he shouted. Then he moved his wand resolutely around the room. It turned green when aimed at Paige but nowhere else. Conner lowered his wand.  
          “Satisfied?”  
          “Not quite,” put in Albus. “Holly, is this Crowley?” he asked directly.  
          “What?” squeaked Holly mortified.  
          “You’ve been fooled before,” Albus reminded Holly bluntly. “Sir is still out there, and a little bit of polyjuice could make him look like anyone! So, is this Crowley?”  
          Holly gulped. He was right, of course. Albus knew Holly had never been able to sense Paige’s emotions and must have guessed she still couldn’t. In all honesty it could be Umbridge in front of her and she wouldn’t know! “Um, what did we talk about when we last met?” Holly finally asked.  
          Paige regarded Holly with those inky black eyes. “Ten percent!” she answered briefly.  
          “That’s her,” answered Holly firmly realizing the ten percent referred to the ten percent memory loss Holly had had after receiving one of Paige’s potions. No one but Professor Lovegood had been there that day and Holly could easily recognize Professor Lovegood’s emotions.  
          “You sure?” questioned Conner.  
          “Yes! Now could you give us some privacy?”  
          Albus and Conner lowered their wands. “Very well,” Albus told Holly. “We’ll be outside,” he assured her and the two stepped back outside the room closing the door behind them.

**********

          Holly looked at Paige. She looked back calmly. As always, Paige’s black eyes seemed to pierce right through her. Then Paige looked down. Holly’s eyes followed and she saw Sasha sitting with one white booted paw up in the air. The end of Paige’s dress swung gently back and forth having obviously just been batted. “Sasha!” exclaimed Holly in surprise. Sasha normally did not bother other people.  
          Fortunately, Paige did not look upset. “Your cat looks well,” she commented coolly as Sasha stood and moved casually back to Holly.  
          “Um, yes,” replied Holly. Sasha circled in, out, between and around Holly’s legs purring loudly. “Thank you,” Holly added remembering suddenly that Cousin Harry had said Lily had written Paige for help in healing Sasha after the explosion. “I, ah, don’t think she would have made it without your help…”  
          Paige nodded wordlessly. Then she lifted her eyes and again looked at Holly. Holly shifted on her feet uncomfortably knowing Paige was waiting for her to speak but it was hard to think with those black eyes seeming to pierce through her.  
          “Uh, I wanted to ask you if you would look at something for me,” Holly began hesitantly. Holly waited for a response but there was none so she continued. “Have you ever seen this?” Holly asked pulling out a bottle of Sabois. Becky had been surprised but pleased when Holly asked for one of her extra bottles of Sabois, and less than pleased when Holly didn’t drink it down immediately saying she wanted to “save it for later.” Holly held the bottle out for Paige’s inspection. Paige looked curiously at the bottle but made no move to take it.  
           “No, of course you haven’t,” answered Holly for Paige after a moment, “At least, I don’t think you have. Tony said you only got back a few days ago so you haven’t had a chance to see it unless someone mentioned it to you while you were in France and I can’t see why anyone would do that unless Tony mentioned it and I don’t think he would do that because, well, just because…” Holly stopped for a breath looked expectantly at Paige waiting for some comment but Paige stared back wordlessly. Holly knew she was rambling but felt so disconcerted by Paige’s black eyes and non-verbal response that she felt the need to fill the silence with words.  
          “Uh, this is Sabois,” continued Holly looking down at the bottle she held. “It’s really popular at Hogwarts this year,” Holly added looking up at Paige. “All the Hufflepuffs like it, _all_ of them … except me,” Holly looked down self-consciously. “I think it tastes terrible!” Holly mumbled. “Conner does too, and Nadia… Albus thinks it tastes like water,” Holly added thoughtfully, “but most of the people at Hogwarts think it tastes wonderful! And when they find out you don’t think it tastes as wonderful as they think it does, they treat you,” Holly broke off unable to explain further, “well, they don’t treat you the same as if you liked the stuff,” she concluded lamely.    
           Holly continued to stare at the bottle thoughtfully; then she looked up. “The people who like it,” she continued setting the bottle on the table besides her. “They can’t agree on what it tastes like. Lynette says the taste reminds her of peaches and cream, but Donald thinks it’s more like peppermint candy. I’ve also heard it supposedly tastes like ripe warm strawberries on a summer day, Christmas eggnog and Grandma’s clootie, whatever that is! The same drink can’t have all that many flavours without some sort of magical influence can it?” Holly stopped for a breath waiting hopefully for some response from Paige but none came.  
           “I know it’s been tested,” Holly continued. “I know Healer Winonan probably looked at it and said it’s “O.K.,” but maybe he missed something; maybe he was looking for the wrong thing? Professor Slughorn tested it too, but he drinks the stuff constantly during the day. I don’t think any test he made would be unbiased… That’s why I thought maybe you could look at it too… Holly’s voice trailed off while she collected her thoughts. “You’re really good with potions and could look at it without any preconceived notions…” Holly trailed off and looked hopefully at Paige. She found no encouragement in Paige’s calm expressionless features, but they didn’t discourage either. Holly looked back at the bottle now on the table.  
          “I’m being selfish, aren’t I?” Holly suddenly accused herself. “Becky says the drink helps her forget the pain of the explosion and makes her think of home and security. My best friend has found something to help her forget the horror of that day and I’m so self-centered that I can’t be happy for her. Instead, I’m suspicious and selfish and I’m looking for ways to destroy her happiness, destroy everyone’s happiness just because I don’t like the drink and can’t be happy with them…” Holly gulped guiltily.  
          “Forget it,” she told Paige abruptly. “Forget all of it! It’s _me,_ not it! Who am I to think I know better than the professionals? Sorry I disturbed you,” Holly mumbled. She scooped up Sasha and hurried out the room closing the door behind her.

**********

          Paige Brenna Crowley slid her long legs off the settee and twisted sitting in the settee properly. It was difficult holding an expressionless, unmoving pose for long periods of time but Paige was used to it. She had learned long ago that a disconcerted babble gave her more information than any regular conversation would. Paige stood, stretched and then walked over to the bottle of Sabois still sitting on the table. In a single fluid motion she picked it up and slid off the cap. Paige dipped her little finger into the bottle and placed the wetted finger cautiously on her tongue. She made a face at the bitter astringent taste. “Interesting,” Paige murmured softly as she returned the cap and set the bottle back on the table.  
          Suddenly the door swung open. Paige looked up and saw her boyfriend Tom Richards stride in. “Hey!” he greeted her happily. “I saw Wycliff leaving the Inn so I figured you were free. What’d she want?” Tom asked curiously.  
          “She thanked me for helping her cat,” Paige answered honestly. Tom had no interest in potion matters.  
          “As well she should,” said Tom approvingly. “You put a lot of work on that. I still say it would have been easier just letting it die and telling her get a new cat…”  
          “Perhaps,” agreed Paige in a neutral voice, “but it was an interesting activity and I was bored… How was the party?” she asked changing the subject. Tom had been invited to a Slytherin Holiday party. The invitation had come after Tony had set up the meeting with Wycliff. Tom hadn’t intended to go without Paige, but she assured him that attending the party would be more interesting than waiting for her to finish a meeting with Wycliff.  
          “Terrific!” answered Tom enthusiastically. “You should have been there! I met all sorts of contacts!”  
          “That’s good,” murmured Paige approvingly.  
          “I brought back something for you,” added Tom. He reached into his vest and pulled out a slim bottle wrapped in a cloth napkin. His eyes shined, filled with suppressed excitement. “This,” he said proudly as he unwrapped the bottle, “is Sorbitium or Sorbi as everyone calls it. It is the _greatest_ drink ever!” Tom pulled out two wine goblets, set them on the table. “Sorbi is the latest rage in the Ministry,” Tom informed Paige as he divided the drink between the two goblets. “Everyone’s drinking it! Wizard Ercwlff has got to be making a mint!” he added appreciatively.  
          “Wizard Ercwlff?” questioned Paige.  
          “Yeah, that’s the wizard who makes and sells it!” Tom explained as he handed one of the goblets to Paige keeping the other for himself. “Nobody’s ever heard of him before this year, but he’s sure a rising star now. Cheers!” said Tom holding his goblet out expectantly.  
          “Cheers,” replied Paige clinking her goblet gently against his. She brought the drink to her lips and took a sip; her eyes widened in surprise at the taste.  
          “Terrific, isn’t it!” said Tom while watching her expression closely.  
          “Most surprising,” agreed Paige with a smile and she brought the goblet to her lips again.  
          Tom lifted the goblet again, closed his eyes and drank deeply. He smiled with obvious pleasure. “Makes me think of that time you and I spent in Ireland, remember?” he told her. “The warm summer days and the nights in the field outside the Inn…”  
          “I remember,” agreed Paige smiling warmly at the memory. “You say Wizard Ercwlff’s a rising star?” Paige questioned as she set the goblet down on the table.  
          “Most definitely!” Tom agreed.  
          “Then perhaps we can find a way to attach ourselves to that star…”


	25. Chapter 25

          “They’re here!” sang out Vernon.  
          Holly Wycliff jumped off her bed and headed towards the front door. It had been ages since she had last seen her grandparents and at one time feared she never would… Not that she would be able to tell them any of that. With Sir still free Cousin Harry had taken the responsibility of transporting Holly safely to her parents very seriously. He had quietly arranged for Professor Hagrid to fly her to Grimmauld Place by motorbike the night school let out. So while the other students were traveling the Express back to London the next day, Holly was visiting Healer Winonan for a health check-up. He frowned when Holly reported she still dreamed only gray but otherwise cleared her for a return to her family.  
          Once Healer Winonan had given the “all clear,” Holly insisted Cousin Harry take her to visit the victims of Sir’s torture. After seeing Conner, Holly knew she would never rest until she had met these people. She couldn’t apologize, of course, or explain what had happened but she could try to minimize the effects of Sir’s visit. Seeing their trauma from the other side, so to speak, put faces to emotions Sir insisted were of no consequence forced Holly to relive memories she would have rather forgotten. But Holly needed to see for herself their condition and do what she could to help them.  
          Fortunately, Wizard Tuttle had done an excellent job in sneaking in healing potions and creating memories the Muggles could deal with enabling them to move on with their lives. Holly also got Wizard Pilkington to put up anti-Slytherin wards around each of their houses rather than risk worrying that Sir might return to terrorize them a second time.  
          Holly was already safe at home with her brother and parents while the other students were leaving the Express and being greeted by their families.  
          “Beads!” exclaimed Granddad in surprise when he set eyes on Holly. “What have you done to your hair?”  
          “Like it?” questioned Holly as she swung her head back and forth. “I decided it was time for a change!” Holly added without waiting for an answer. “It’s so good to see you!” She reached out and greeted her granddad with a warm hug, which he returned with enthusiasm. Granddad looked great. Last year’s close call with botulism had caused him to rethink his diet and he had managed to loose several pounds; he didn’t feel nearly as achy and tired as he had in previous years.  
          “I don’t think that many braids are appropriate for a _proper_ young lady,” said Grandmum disapprovingly. “What have they been teaching you at that school?”  
          “They’ve been teaching me to think for myself!” Holly exclaimed firmly. “And _I_ think they look just great! I’ve missed you so much,” Holly added hugging Grandmum tightly.  
          “Well,” grumbled Grandmum uncertainly as she hugged Holly back. “I’m beginning to wonder about that place…”  
          “Don’t,” Holly assured. “It’s the best place for me…” She hugged Grandmum once more and then bent down. “Look!” she said scooping up Sasha who was waiting at her feet. “I’ve a cat now!” Holly announced. “Her name’s Sasha. Isn’t she beautiful?” Sasha refused to stay at Mrs. Roger’s place the moment Holly shut the door between them. She also wouldn’t stay in Holly’s room without Holly. There was no way Sasha could be hidden this year so Holly decided to confront the situation head on…  
          “What would you want with a flea bag?” questioned Grandmum backing instinctively away from Sasha despite the lacy fat pink and white bow tied around her neck intended to make Sasha look “cute.”  
          “She’s not a fleabag,” denied Holly protectively. “She doesn’t have any fleas at all! And she keeps me company at night!”  
          “In your bed?” demanded Grandmum aghast.  
          “Sasha’s a great mouser!” put in Vernon helpfully before Holly could reply. “There’s a whole bunch of rats and mice coming out of that abandoned house down the block…” Grandmum shuttered visibly at the suggestion of mice and rats. “The cat keeps them away from our house,” Vernon continued elaborating cheerfully.  
          “Well,” Grandmum grumbled grudgingly, “as long as she stays outside…”  
          “No need to worry about that,” agreed Holly easily. Sasha knew how to keep out of sight and what Grandmum didn’t know... “Let me help you with your things,” Holly offered as she moved over to the boot of the car to help Vernon with the luggage. There was a lot as her grandparents never travelled light.  
          Holly smiled as she lifted the smaller bags, tucked them under her arms and headed towards the house. The abandoned house Vernon had mentioned earlier would have been the catman’s place. The catman had never returned since they had convinced him to give up his cat business a few years ago and the house had been empty ever since. It was more than a block away. Holly knew her brother had no idea whether or not there were any mice “across” the way and had never seen Sasha catch a mouse. But he still stood by her and Holly loved him for that. She was so glad Sir had never gotten his hands on him.

**********

          It was much later, after Grandmum and Granddad had gotten settled, a low calorie dinner had been served and enjoyed by all, the basic gossip and news had been exchanged, and a few hours of the tube had been watched before Holly finally decided it was time to go to bed. She told everyone “good night” and went to her room.  
          Holly turned on her light, stepped into her bedroom and froze. “Winky!” hissed Holly loudly after she had slammed the door to her room closed. “Get in here right now!” There were no emotions in the room but the sign of Winky’s presence was everywhere! Holly’s bed was made, her shoes were lined up neatly underneath the bed, books on the shelves straightened, the windowsill and curtains were dusted… Winky appeared suddenly with a loud _crack_. “What do you think you’re doing?” Holly scolded. “I told you to never, ever, come here! Cousin Harry told you to never ever come here! You _promised!!!”_  
          Winky’s bat-like ears flopped contritely. “I is a house elf,” she whimpered.  
          “Yes, you is a house elf,” agreed Holly, “but _not_ here! Never here! You’re gonna get found out!” she told the elf. “And if dad sees you he’s gonna give you clothes for sure!” Not that Holly would ever tell him what clothes meant, but it would still cause major problems if he knew Winky’d been around.  
          “Holly?” came Vernon’s voice from outside. “Who are you talking to?”  
          “Uh, nobody,” denied Holly loudly.  
          “I is careful,” insisted Winky in her high-pitched voice. “Nobody sees me!”  
          “They don’t have to see you to know you’ve been here!” Holly told Winky, “ _I_ knew it! You can’t clean up here ever!” Winky’s ears drooped even further if possible. She grabbed her snowy white pillowcase and twisted it in her hands tightly and started to sob loudly.  
          “Holly! What’s going on in there!” insisted Vernon. “Who’s with you?”  
          “Nothing!” insisted Holly loudly. “Nobody!” Then Holly dropped her voice and said, “O.K., O.K.,” she relented in a whisper, “you can spend the nights here with me, but only after everyone else has gone to bed! Understand?”  
          Winky’s tears subsided and her ears rose up. “Yes, Miss,” squeaked Winky in agreement.  
          “And you’ve got to leave early before they get up, O.K.?” Holly added in a whisper. “And no more cleaning!!!!”  
          “Yes, Miss,” Winky squeaked happily. “Thank you, Miss, Thank you, thank you, _thank you_!” she said loudly overcome with joy.  
          “Holly? Is everything all right?” questioned Vernon barging into her room despite the closed door. “Woah!” he exclaimed freezing at the sight of Winky.  
          “What’s going on!” questioned Granddad who had just left the bathroom.  
          “You! Out!” Holly ordered Winky in a panic. Winky immediately vanished. “And you!” Holly added in a whisper while looking at Vernon, “don’t say a word of this to anybody! Please!” she begged. “I promise I’ll explain later!”  
          Vernon nodded slowly. “It’s pretty cold out tonight, Granddad,” Vernon said loudly. “I was just checking to see if Holly had enough blankets for her bed…”  
          “Oh. That’s nice. Good night,” replied Granddad while looking curiously in Holly’s room as he passed.  
          “Good night,” chorused Vernon and Holly. Granddad moved on down the hall and into his room.  
Vernon looked expectantly at Holly. “Not here or now,” whispered Holly while poking her head worriedly in the hall checking to see if someone else might be within hearing, “but later, I promise.”  
          Vernon nodded slowly. “Later,” he agreed. He squeezed past Holly and stepped out of her room. “This one’s going to be good!” Vernon added with an air of happy anticipation. “Night, Holly.”  
          “Good night.”

**********

          “What do I do with them now?” asked Holly Wycliff as she removed the papers from the printer.  
          “Highlight the due date with the yellow marker,” answered Grandmum without looking at Holly and then you punch holes in them and put them in the big binder over there,” she continued nodding with her head towards a huge pink binder decorated with daisy decals labeled “To Do.” “File them by due date,” Grandmum added returning her attention to the computer screen.  
          Holly was in the kitchen helping her Grandmum with contest entries. She hadn’t won many contests this year so Grandmum had decided to use the holidays to search out new contests to enter. Being nearly clueless as to the workings of a computer or the internet, Holly was the least qualified to help, but she had volunteered nevertheless. Holly had no interest in contests or electronics, but she was worried about Grandmum.  
          Grandmum knew! Holly wasn’t sure just what she knew, but Holly was certain whatever it was it wasn’t good. Oh, Grandmum said all the right things, things Holly would expect her to say, but the emotions behind the words weren’t sincere; they weren’t warm or loving at all. Holly longed to ask Grandmum what was going on, but didn’t dare for fear of making things worse. So Holly sat with Grandmum hunting out contests in the hopes of reconnecting whatever she once had with her.  
          “What’s Clootie?” Holly asked suddenly. It was the subject of one of the contests and Holly remembered the name from Jerome and Jesse.  
          “Haven’t the foggiest idea,” admitted Grandmum blithely.  
          “But you’ve set it aside as one of the contests you intend to enter!”  
          “That’s right.”  
          “But how can you write about Clootie if you don’t know what it is?”  
          “Easy. I just google the name, read the descriptions and start writing.”  
          “And that works?” Holly asked in disbelief.  
          “Of course! I just use the descriptive words for Clootie and add my own feelings about something else I love for realism. Works every time. Contests featuring obscure topics have less people entering so my chances of winning are better than ever!”  
          “That doesn’t seem right somehow,” mused Holly as she punched holes in the paper.  
          “What isn’t right is letting this perfectly marvelous opportunity to win a prize slide by just because I know nothing about Clootie,” replied Grandmum. She stopped what she was doing and looked at Holly directly. “Do the rules say I have to know what Clootie is?”  
          “Um, no, not exactly,” admitted Holly rereading the contest rules.  
          “Where there you have it! What better reason to learn about Clootie that a chance to win £100?”  
          “I suppose…”  
          By lunchtime, Holly was no closer to figuring out Grandmum’s emotions than before, but she had learned a lot about finding and entering contests.

**********

          Dillon Wycliff nervously paced back and forth on the living room floor. It was a few days before Christmas. The tree was trimmed, covered with the usual gaudy ornaments and shiny tinsel; a stack of presents lay underneath the tree waiting to be opened. Laurel had taken Holly and Vernon off to that Karate class of theirs to work out. They had convinced dad to come with them and watch. Mum was in the kitchen happily working on contest entries. It was just the two of them in the house. Now was the perfect opportunity for them to talk, something Dillon had been meaning to do for four years.   It was also something Dillon dreaded and would have happily put off for another four years or longer.  
          Unfortunately, Laurel had put her foot down and insisted it be done and done _immediately_ threatening to do it herself if he didn’t! Laurel felt the silence they had maintained after Holly’s “death” was horrific. “Families,” she said, “should come together in times of tragedy not be avoided or ripped apart by secrets." In addition, she said it was "unconscionable that his parents could have lost their granddaughter and never even known!”  
          “But they didn’t!” argued Dillon, “so let it go!”  
          “You should have had someone to talk to, to share our grief; we both should have, but we didn’t; we couldn’t!” persisted Laurel. “And there should have been someone with whom we could share our joy when she returned!” added Laurel. “And your parents shouldn’t be the reason we had to hustle our baby out of the house and back to that, _that school_ , either!” she finished angrily.  
          Dillon had to agree with that part. The hardest thing he had ever done was to let Holly return to _that school_ knowing the dangers that went with it and he probably would have never agreed if his parents hadn’t been on the way…  
          But agreeing to talk with his parents and actually _doing_ it were two different things. Dillon tried different scenarios in his mind over and over again, looking for some way to “ease” into the topic, “break” the news “gently” but he could think of nothing.  
          Finally Dillon gave up in frustration. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and charged into the kitchen. “Mum!” he said before his courage failed hoping he would find the words as he spoke.  
          “Yes?” she said not looking up from her computer. It was a laptop thing that she had set up on the kitchen table and plugged the cord into the wall.  
          “I’ve, uh, got to talk with you!” Mum looked up again and removed her pointy rhinestone studded pink glasses so she could see Dillon more clearly.  
          At that point all Dillon’s resolve failed. She was so happy and cheerful looking. How could he destroy that now? “What, uh, are you doing?” he asked instead.  
          “Working on my contests,” mum told him with a smile. “I’ve got three more done. Perhaps you could put the stamps on for me,” she added reaching out and picking up three sealed envelopes. She handed them to Dillon. “Uh, yeah, sure,” agreed Dillon. He rapidly found the stamps and affixed one on each.  
          “Was that it?” she asked benignly.  
          “Uh, yes, uh, no,” Dillon tried again as mum slid her glasses back on her face. “About Holly…”  
          “Sweet child,” mum murmured pleasantly returning to her work. “She was helping me the other day,” she added. “Did you know that? Not many kids these days take an interest in their parents let alone grandparents,” she continued approvingly without waiting for an answer. “Of course, I don’t know about that school of hers…”  
          “Huh?”  
          “Did you know they don’t permit the use of computers or the internet there? Holly says it’s because they want the students to turn in original work, and it’s too easy to plagiarize when they have internet access. I know that can be a problem, but still I should think computer instruction would be an essential in any school these days. St. George’s seems terribly outdated. Perhaps you should think of placing her somewhere else...”  
          “Uh…”  
          “You know, you haven’t asked our input but there’s that nice academy next to Smeltings, Worchester Ladies Academy, I believe it is called. Vernon said he’s met a girl from there so I checked it out,” mum informed Dillon. “Worchester has a very fine reputation. Maybe you could place Holly there,” she suggested. “They have the latest in computer technology and I’m sure they would never let any of their students go _vegetarian_ ,” she finished with a shutter.  
          “It’s _Hogwarts!_ ” Dillon blurted quickly before he lost his nerve. Bad enough he had to defend the imaginary schools Holly had supposedly been attending but to have to fend off parental choices as well?  
          “Huh?” Mum looked up at Dillon and blinked at him without bothering to take off the glasses. Her eyes looked incredibly huge behind those lenses.  
          “Holly goes to _Hogwarts!_ ” Dillon repeated and braced himself for the inevitable stormy anger that would follow.  
          “But I know that,” said mum mildly and returned her attention to the computer screen.  
          “Lookit,” Dillon continued as if mum had never spoken, “I know I should have told you sooner but, _wait,_ you already know?”  
          “Yes, of course,” she answered calmly as she typed some words on the screen.  
          “But how???” he asked in confusion. “Since when???”  
          Mum took off her glasses and looked up at Dillon. “I’ve known ever since I saw that photo of Holly last year,” she told him. “I destroyed all my photos of Lily long before you were born,” mum informed him. “The only way you would have known to hide that photo, would have been if someone had told you who Holly looked like and that it might upset me… Vincent knew, of course,” mum added thoughtfully, “but I would have known if he had seen it or seen it in her, and maybe Harry, although he was very young when she died and I doubt he knew what she looked like either. But Harry hung out with Lily’s friends and they would have known and could have told him or you…” Mum’s voice died away as if lost in memories. “But that meant you must have looked them up, and they’d seen Holly…” she added practically. “And I can’t imagine any reason why you would have looked them up or let them see Holly except…” her voice fell away. Mum turned back to the computer screen and began to type. Then she said, “Vernon goes to Smeltings, but I can’t find a listing for St. George’s Academy or Hillary’s anywhere!”  
          “You’ve known and you’re not mad!” asked Dillon in disbelief.  
          “Oh, I was furious at first,” mum admitted. “You’re lucky Vincent and I were at our home when I figured it out all or you would have never heard the end of it! I was determined to cut you off completely and never see you or your family ever again! But then, after a month or two, I cooled off and I realized that it was _our_ Holly who had received the invitation— _our_ baby not someone else’s! _Our_ grandchild who was so special and she _is_ special, isn’t she?”  
          “Oh, yes, mum, she is that,” agreed Dillon heartily.  
          “And then it didn’t seem like such a bad thing. After all, Holly’s normal, and not at all weird like Harry was… Well, that karate stuff is weird but that’s not the kind of weird I mean,” mum amended. “And Holly didn’t have any disgusting pets either! Honestly!” mum shuttered, “what normal person keeps an _owl_ for a pet? They don’t belong in cages _or_ nice neighborhoods!”  
          “That’s true,” agreed Dillon.  
          “But I admit I had second thoughts about Holly when I saw her in those horrible braids holding a _cat!_ ” mum added sounding thoroughly scandalized. “The cat’s not so bad,” she reflected thoughtfully. “That’s a normal kind of pet especially as it’s not black. And I’ve scarcely seen it around but can’t you talk her out of the _braids_?”  
          Dillon laughed remembering the heated conversations he had already had with Holly concerning those braids. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think Harry likes those braids either,” he told mum.  
          She looked at him thoughtfully. “Oh. Then she can keep the braids. She’s still the sweet loving Holly underneath.”  
          “Yes, she is,” agreed Dillon.  
          “So you’ve seen Harry, then?” mum inquired curiously.  
          “Yes, mum.”  
          “And he’s O.K.?”  
          “Yes, mum.”  
          “And that thing with Lord Voldemort?”  
          “It’s all over,” Dillon assured mum. Of course, there was this new villain named Sir to worry about but he could tell mum about that some other time.  
          “That’s good. I wondered.” Mum returned her attention to the screen and began typing.  
          “Mum?”  
          “Yes?”  
          “I love you!” Dillon reached down and impulsively hugged her. Knowing she knew about Hogwarts was like an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  
          “I love you too, Duddydums,” she said affectionately while hugging him back. “Mind you,” she added sternly while releasing him and looking Dillon straight in the eyes, “St. George’s is a much nicer name for a school than Hogwarts and as your dad doesn’t know a thing about any of this I think it best we don’t tell him don’t you? I doubt he’d take it too kindly to learn you’ve been consorting with _that_ sort of people…”  
          “Yes, mum,” agreed Dillon happily and hugged her again.

**********

          “…And don’t get rid of your braids no matter what anybody says,” whispered Grandmum in Holly’s ear, “even if it’s a … relative!”  
          “Don’t worry, I won’t,” assured Holly Wycliff while hugging Grandmum tightly. It was the day after Christmas. Grandmum and Granddad were leaving for home and everyone was saying their final farewells. Holly knew her grandparents weren’t actually going “home” but she never inquired further. That was one of those things she wasn’t supposed to “know” in the first place. More important to Holly was that wonderful warm hug Grandmum had just given her. It was a real hug, with proper emotions to match.  
          Only yesterday, when Grandmum had handed Holly her present and wished her, “Merry Christmas,” did Holly realize that Grandmum actually _meant_ it! Holly had no idea exactly when or why Grandmum’s emotions had changed but on Christmas Day Grandmum felt like her familiar warm loving self. Such was Holly’s relief at the change in emotions that she scarce noticed anything that happened afterwards. Even now, Holly was content to hug her Grandmum tight rather than wonder what “relative” she had meant when suggesting Holly not give in to outside pressures.  
          “See you this summer!” Holly whispered in happy anticipation. Holly was happy that she had a summer to look forward to and a loving family to come home to.


	26. Chapter 26

          Laurel Wycliff sat at the kitchen table sorting Christmas cards. It was something she did every year after the in-laws left. The cards had been opened and read when they arrived and now only needed recording and mailing addresses double-checked. All of the cards had been opened that is, except one. It was addressed to Holly. Seeing the Smith return address, Laurel had set that envelope aside to give to Holly after her Grandparents had left. The envelope was rather puffy so Laurel guessed it had a small gift inside.  
          “Holly?” Laurel called out, “You’ve got a card…”  
          “Who’s it from?” she asked coming in from her bedroom with her cat trailing behind.  
          “Looks like Becky,” replied Laurel handing Holly the card.  
          “Really?” Holly sounded surprised. She grabbed the letter opener and slit the top of the envelope. Laurel saw Holly pull out a second envelope from the corner of her eye as she picked up the next envelope and card. “The Owens,” Holly said aloud obviously noting the name on the corner. Laurel vaguely remembered that the last name of Holly’s other friend, Mark, was Owens. Holly slit open that envelope and drew out the card within. Laurel returned to checking addresses.  
          “We’ve got to get out of here!”  
          “What?” Laurel looked up in surprise at Holly but Holly was no longer there. The two envelopes and card she had held were lying on the floor. A shiny dark green holly leaf attached to a stem and a cluster of bright red holly berries lay on the floor next to them.  
          “Vernon!” Laurel heard Holly call out. “Come on! We’ve got to _go!”_  
          “What’s up?” Laurel heard Vernon ask. He was in the spare bedroom exercising—Vernon hadn’t been able to use the equipment while his grandparents were visiting.  
          “We’re leaving!” Holly told him. _“Now!”_  
          Holly reappeared with her school bag slung over her shoulder, carrying her (Laurel’s) purse in one hand, and clutching a brown stick tightly in her other. Her face was as white as a sheet and there was this sense of desperation about her.  
          Laurel rose to her feet in alarm. “What is it, Holly?” she asked. Seeing Holly’s wand out (that’s what the stick had to be) seemed to emphasize the urgency of the situation. “What’s wrong?”  
          “Here,” Holly said bruskly handing the purse to Laurel. “We’ve got to leave, _now!”_  
          Vernon appeared looking as confused as Laurel felt. He was wearing his sweats wiping off his face with a towel. “What’s going on?” he questioned.  
          “Come on!” Holly ordered urgently. “Into the car! We’ve got to go! NOW!”  
          “What’s wrong?” Laurel insisted not moving.  
          “I’ll explain later,” Holly assured impatiently. “But we’ve got to get out of here _now!”_ Holly grabbed Laurel’s arm and tugged her in the direction of the door but Laurel pulled back resisting. _“Please!”_ Holly begged. “We’ve got to _go!”_  
          Laurel allowed herself to be pushed into the auto along with Vernon.   
          “Go, go, **_GO!”_** urged Holly as she strapped herself in. “We’ve got to get going!”  
          “Where are we going?” asked Vernon as he pulled the seat belt strap over his shoulder. He didn’t fasten it in but Laurel let him pretend he had. Vernon had refused to strap in ever since the nightmare last year when he had almost lost his life. Laurel knew Vernon would refuse to ride in an auto if he actually had to “buckle-up.”  
          “Away!” answered Holly vaguely as Laurel started the engine. “Just keep driving!” Holly urged as Laurel turned onto the main road and headed down the road.

**********

          There was a single loud knock on the door. “Who is it?” asked Laurel rising swiftly to answer it.  
          “It’s me!” Laurel recognized Dillon’s familiar voice. She hastily unlocked the door and opened it. Dillon’s welcome form strode in; Laurel hugged her husband in relief certain the nightmare was now over. Behind Dillon came the tall figure of Harry Potter wearing a brown hat and scarf, a light brown suit and a gray overcoat. It was nippy outside.

 ***********

          Laurel had driven to the end of the road and pulled to a stop in the first available parking area demanding an explanation. Holly’s whole body shook when she finally whispered, “He’s _found_ us!” Laurel didn’t need to know who Holly meant. The pure terror in her every motion telegraphed that. _Sir!_ Laurel had tried to stop again after she had driven all the way through the village but Holly had urged her to “keep driving!” that they “weren’t safe yet!” Such was the panic in Holly’s voice that Laurel had continued to drive.  
          Rather than talking while they drove, Holly had pulled out a tiny pink book and started writing in it. She would close it periodically, open it and write some more. Laurel had never seen the book before but she was certain she knew what it was. Mr. Potter had not given Laurel a book to replace the one Dillon had torn, but had known when to pick up Holly for school anyway. Now Laurel knew why.  
          “Dad!” Holly said suddenly. “He’s got to be told! He can’t come home! It isn’t safe!”  
          “I’ll tell him,” Laurel assured Holly. They had driven through a second village and were entering a third. “Just as soon as I can tell him where we are.”  
          “No!” Holly insisted, her voice rising in a panic. “You’ve got to tell him _now!”_  
          “He’s at work,” Laurel reminded Holly in a calm voice. “He isn’t due home for a while yet.”  
          “I’ll do it,” Holly volunteered grabbing Laurel’s purse to get the phone. “What’s the number?”  
          Laurel pulled the auto to a stop on the curb near a place labeled “Bed and Breakfast.”  
          “What are you doing?” asked Holly looking up from the phone she was trying to turn on.  
          “We’re stopping,”  
          “You can’t do that!” Holly said desperately. “We’ve got to keep moving!”  
          “We’ve moved far enough,” Laurel told Holly firmly. “We’re not going any farther without your father, Holly. Now, I don’t know about Vernon, but I’m hungry and need to use the facilities. I can park the auto in back so it won’t be easily seen and we can get a room here where we can wait for your dad. We drove past a place that delivers food so we can order something to eat without having to go outside. It’s time to stop running, Holly,” Laurel said gently. “We’ll be safe here for now.”  
          Holly reluctantly let Laurel get a room and the three trooped upstairs. Heedless of Laurel’s words Holly parked herself on the floor in a corner, drew her wand and grimly faced the door clearly in anticipation of the worst.

**********

          Dillon stopped and stared at Holly’s pale face as she sat in the corner. Holly had hidden the wand once she heard Dillon call out but otherwise hadn’t moved from that corner since they had arrived. Harry moved swiftly past Dillon and knelt down to eye level in front of Holly. “It’s O.K. Holly,” he told her gently. “You’re safe. Your dad and I checked the house and he hasn’t been there.” Laurel Wycliff felt a wave of relief flood her body. She had been certain that was the case, after all, the letter had been sitting around the house unopened for a few days, but it was nice to hear it confirmed. Laurel knew Harry had contacted Dillon wanting to check the house. Dillon had said as much in one of his conversations with her over the phone. But Laurel didn’t know what had happened after that. Harry’s words didn’t seem to have much effect on Holly though. She still sat woodenly hunched in the corner giving no sign she had even heard him. Sasha crouched in front of Holly and twitched her tail restlessly.  
          “He doesn’t know where you live,” Harry continued firmly. “It was just a trick.” It took considerable effort for Laurel to find out exactly why Holly was so certain Sir had found them. And then Holly let slip that this wasn’t the first message she had received from Sir…  
          “I checked with the Owens,” Harry added in that same soothing tone. “They’re all fine. They didn’t even know a letter using their name had been sent to you. I checked the Smiths’ too,” Harry added. “They’re fine too— _all_ of them. They received an owl with a letter bearing the Owens name and just forwarded it, unopened, on to you. They had no idea the card wasn’t actually _from_ the Owens.  
          I had a long talk with Mr. Smith, though,” Harry continued softly. “Mr. Smith and I decided it would be best if he was no longer a secret keeper for your family. They don’t know where you live any more.” Laurel wondered how you could un-remember something. “When you have messages to send home, send them to me and I’ll pass them on,” he continued. “You can keep sending the Smiths your mail to forward to Holly,” Harry added looking up at Laurel. “Just don’t put a return address on any of it. Your house is absolutely safe, Holly,” Harry continued. “You can go home now.”  
          “No, I can’t,” denied Holly. “It isn’t safe, not any more. He’s out there waiting… He’ll find me, find them!” Laurel heard the panic in Holly’s voice and recognized the stubborn tone. She wouldn’t be changing her mind any time soon.  
          Harry sighed and stood up. He looked at Dillon. “What would you say to a family vacation in say, Wales, my treat—would that be far enough away for you Holly?” Holly dipped her head down, her beads swayed covering her face from view. “Or Scotland or Ireland?” Harry continued and looked expectantly at Dillon.  
          _"Interesting,"_ thought Laurel. Harry clearly had encountered Holly’s stubborn streak before. But where Dillon would have shouted and yelled and perhaps tried to drag a protesting Holly home, Harry had simply accepted her fears and gone from there. Laurel wondered if Dillon would follow his lead. She didn’t particularly want to traipse off to some new location for the rest of the holidays, and she doubted that Vernon, still in his sweats, did either, but Holly’s fear had been real and infectious. Laurel was certain she would not rest easy if she returned to her own bed tonight.  
          Dillon shuffled uncomfortably on his feet for several minutes before speaking. “I can afford to take care of my own family if we’re taking a trip!” he finally growled. Harry nodded without arguing. “And I _won’t_ be telling you where…”  
          Harry nodded again. “That’s probably a good idea,” he agreed solemnly.  
          “I expect you’ll be wanting her back at the end of Holidays to go to _that school?”_ asked Dillon in a surly tone.  
          “That’s between you and Holly,” replied Harry softly. “You can let me know later… I’ll be going now,” he added looking around the room for the first time noting and nodding to both Laurel and Vernon. “Good day and, uh, Happy New Year.” Then Harry headed towards the door and stepped through the entryway.  
          “Mr. Potter!” Laurel called before Harry had vanished from sight. Harry stopped and turned, his tall slender form framed in the doorway. “Do you realize Holly has been receiving notes from Sir while at school?”  
          “Yes, ma’am,” Harry replied solemnly. Dillon looked both startled and upset at this information.  
          “What are you doing about it?”  
          “Holly’s mail at school is screened before she opens it with the messages from Sir removed and sent directly to me. I forward them on to the officials. Had I realized Sir would do such a stunt over the holidays, I would have suggested you do the same with her mail here.”  
          “And the sender?”  
          “That is proving more difficult,” he admitted. “The messages, this one included, imply a close presence with someone watching, but they could all just as easily be mind games, good guesses at what happens on a specific day and hour written to do just what it has done today.” Harry looked down at Holly, still stiff and wary, hunched in the corner with Sasha crouched protectively in front of her. “So far, all the leads have proved to be dead ends,” Harry added. He glanced over at Vernon when he said that. Laurel suddenly wondered why. “But we haven’t stopped looking,” continued Harry, “and I won’t, not ever, until Sir is apprehended.” Laurel believed that promise. “Good day,” Harry finished and swiftly stepped from the doorway and out of view.

**********

          “I understand you want a job!” said Wizard Ercwlff sternly.  
          “That’s right!” said Tom Richards confidently. Wizard Ercwlff wasn’t much of a wizard to look at, a bit smaller than average in size, average build, mousy brown hair, watery brown eyes, wearing a non-descriptive slate gray suit. Tom would have never given him a second glance had he seen the wizard walking down the street. But Paige and he had done some research on Wizard Ercwlff before arranging this meeting. The profits they calculated Wizard Ercwlff had received from the sale of Sabois and Sorbitium could easily make him one of the wealthiest if not _the_ wealthiest wizard in Great Britain. Of course, that didn’t take into account the expenses of producing the drinks but still, Wizard Ercwlff had to have been making a tidy profit.  
          “I don’t need any employees,” Wizard Ercwlff said flatly.  
          “Of course you do!” argued Tom reasonably. “How else are you going to expand your enterprise?”  
          “Expand?”  
          “Yes, into Europe, Ireland, the Americas!”  
          “What makes you think I plan to expand?”  
          “You’re a Slytherin!” Tom answered as if that explained everything. “Of course you have plans to expand.” The Slytherin bit was an assumption on their part. Wizard Ercwlff had only been seen wearing slate gray. Tom was proud to have been sorted into Slytherin but Slytherin was not a popular house after the Great Battle. Tom knew many Wizards found it expedient to hide or deny their Slytherin affiliation after they left Hogwarts. Nevertheless, only a Slytherin would put forth such a bold marketing enterprise and no Slytherin would settle for a taste of money or power when more could be had.  
          “I figure you are only waiting for the right opportunity to expand before you make your move,” added Tom confidently. “That’s where I come in.”  
          “You?”  
          “Yes, me. You need somebody competent to operate your business in Great Britain while you set up in Europe or you need someone capable to open up operations in Europe. Either way, I’m your man.”  
          “You?”  
          “Me. I’m top of my class at Hogwarts,” near enough, “hard-working, resourceful, and I keep secrets,” Tom boasted.  
          Wizard Ercwlff leaned forward and his eyes narrowed. “Like what?” he asked.  
          Tom laughed easily. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he challenged. It was a standard Slytherin joke—keeping secrets was an important qualification to any Slytherin employer and the only qualification that could not be checked out. If you revealed a secret to prove you kept secrets then you clearly couldn’t keep them.  
          Wizard Ercwlff leaned back in his chair but his brown eyes watched Tom closely. “And Europe?” he questioned.  
         “My girl and I just got back from Europe,” Tom informed him. “She speaks French like a native so I recommend we start operations in France. But there’s some prep work to be done…”  
          “Oh?”  
          “Yeah,” Tom leaned forward confidentially. “You probably know, the French are rather stuck up. Well, Sorbi is a great drink but the French will probably look down their noses at it just because it’s British. I recommend setting up a base of operations that looks independent of Great Britain. Then I would keep the beverage but change the name and the bottle design before trying to sell it. The French will give it a try because they think it’s “French,” discover the delights of Sorbi and be none the wiser being too snobby to consider trying the British version.” Tom leaned back and smiled. “Pretty clever, eh?” he asked.  
          “Possibly,” Wizard Ercwlff grudgingly admitted.  
          “And we can work the same stunt in Germany and Italy, too!” Tom continued enthusiastically.  
          Wizard Ercwlff’s eyes narrowed and looked at Tom closely. “Why?” he asked suddenly.  
          “Why? So you can make a profit, of course,” replied Tom confidently.  
          “Why are you suggesting these things, _Slytherin?_ ” Wizard Ercwlff asked again clarifying the question. He had a point. No true Slytherin would suggest great ideas to another without some ulterior motive, usually to further some personal benefit.  
          “Because I want a job,” answered Tom, “and expansion is a good reason to hire me…”  
          “What do you _really_ want?” asked Wizard Ercwlff suspiciously.  
          Tom studied Wizard Ercwlff thoughtfully. Truth or lies? Which would serve him best? Despite his mousy appearance, Wizard Ercwlff could not be a fool; he would not be satisfied with a simple answer. Tom took a deep breath. “Because I want a _career_ , not just a job,” he answered honestly. “Those drinks are a gold mine,” he told the wizard. “You are a rising star and I want to rise with you. I want a title and responsibility reflecting my abilities and the pay that goes along with it. I’m not looking for a fancy position right off,” Tom added persuasively. “I’m willing to start small and work my way up—I can do whatever you need, show you my worth, so to speak, and then we can discuss future prospects. There was a time,” Tom admitted thoughtfully, “when I thought I wanted to get into politics, but I’m flexible. If, at a later date, I decide to move into politics, I want it to be as a successful businessman not some junior official rising through the ranks. Take me on and you won’t regret it.”  
          Wizard Ercwlff studied Tom for a long time. “What does your girl say?” he finally asked.  
          “Huh?”  
          “Your girl,” repeated the wizard. “What does she say?”  
          “What do you mean?”  
          “You have volunteered her services,” reminded the wizard. “Is she agreeable?”  
          “Yes, of course,” agreed Tom though in truth he hadn’t specifically asked her.  
          “Is she a Slytherin?”  
          “Of course,” answered Tom proudly.  
          “And how does she feel about you starting “small?” A very good question. If Paige’s ambitions conflicted with Tom’s, there could be problems… “She’s the one who suggested it,” Tom replied. Of course she had been discussing rising stars not salaries.  
          “She sounds most accommodating,” murmured Wizard Ercwlff. “I should like to meet her.”  
          “Meet her?” questioned Tom uncertainly. “Uh, why?”  
          “I would meet all persons who seek to work for me,” replied the wizard calmly. “What is her name?”  
          “Yes, yes, of course,” agreed Tom stalling for time. What should he do? Tom briefly considered providing a fake name thus giving Paige a chance at a new start, but discarded the idea. Any casual inquiry would reveal that there was only one girl for Tom and a lie at this early stage would ruin any chance of continued employment…  
          “Her name is Paige, Paige Crowley,” answered Tom proudly. He was not ashamed of Paige; it was the others who should have their heads checked.  
          “Crowley?” questioned Wizard Ercwlff. His eyes narrowed momentarily and then he frowned in thought. “That name sounds familiar…”  
          “Uh, yes, she was in the news a bit during the summer…” admitted Tom reluctantly.  
          “Ah, yes, the trial,” filled in the wizard. “Something about an _Imperius Curse_ …”  
          “That’s right,” Tom replied, “and she won her case, too.”  
          “So she did…” the wizard mused, “but wasn’t there something about damage?”  
          _“Punitive_ damage,” corrected Tom, “against Umbridge. Or there should be,” amended Tom righteously. Lacking tangible proof, no such charges had actually been filed against her. “There’s nothing wrong with Paige! Those were all rumors Umbridge put out to discredit her.”  
          “I see… But I got the impression Witch Umbridge was kept in custody before the trial and then sent to Azkaban…”  
          “Yeah, but her friends weren’t,” replied Tom bitterly. “And she has a lot of them…”  
          “Does she? Interesting…” Wizard Ercwlff closed his eyes in thought. Then he opened them and smiled. “Mr. Richards,” he began, “if you’re willing to start at the bottom then I believe I _do_ have employment for you, you _and_ your girl…”

**********

          “Where have you been!” demanded the angry voice of the portrait of Headmaster Snape.  
          “At the New Year’s Eve party,” replied Minerva McGonagall as she sat wearily down in her chair. “And a Happy New Year to you too,” she added while brushing the confetti out of her hair.  
          “I knew it was a bad idea the moment it was proposed,” said the Portrait while ignoring Minerva’s greetings. “It was a crazy idea! You should have never supported it and I _never_ should have agreed! Of all the stupid things to do!”  
          “Why? What’s happened?” asked Minerva curiously. It _had_ been a crazy idea but Harry had been so desperate to do something at the time that Minerva hadn’t the heart to oppose. And Snape, well, Minerva suspected he kind of liked Holly and had been unable turn down a chance, however slim, to help…  
          Snape drew himself up to his full height, if such a thing were possible in a portrait, “I … have … been … _stolen!”_ he announced.  
          “Stolen!” exclaimed Minerva in surprise. Who would want to steal Snape? “Who?” she asked. “How?”  
          “I don’t know who!” exclaimed Snape in frustration. “One minute I’m sitting in the windowsill watching the Muggles make fools of themselves and the next minute there’s this black cloth over my face and I’m being lifted out of the display. “You have _got_ to get me out of this!” he ordered. “I shall _not_ spend my days on some Muggle wall so some filthy Muggle can claim me for his ancestor!” Snape practically shouted.  
          “Yes, yes, of course,” agreed Minerva. It was unthinkable to leave a wizard portrait in Muggle hands. “Where are you?”  
          “I don’t know!” Snape fumed. “The cloth is still covering me!”  
          “Well, let me know as soon as you learn something,” Minerva told him. “We’ll have you out as soon as possible.” That might be easier said than done. Minerva pulled out a quill and wrote a quick note to Harry. Harry had refused to reveal the location of the village or antique shop where he had placed Snape’s portrait. He may be the only one who could retrieve the portrait depending on its current location. Minerva rolled the note and handed it to the owl. “Take this to #12 Grimmauld Place in the morning,” she told the owl.  
          “The morning!” screeched Snape. “I want out _now!”_  
          “You don’t even know where you are,” reminded Minerva. “There’s no point in bothering him sooner. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed…”

**********

          Snape was much more composed when he finally reappeared late New Years day, very late, like New Years night! Minerva McGonagall had remained a long time in her office waiting for his return. Most likely he was late because he had been posted on a wall somewhere as a present and he didn’t dare move in front of a Muggle audience of supposed family.  
          “Where are you?” she asked bluntly when he moved into the portrait frame.  
          “A small room with no doors or windows I can see.” he answered much to Minerva’s disappointment.  
          “In other words, for our purposes, you don’t know where you are.”  
          “That would be correct.”  
          Minerva sighed in disappointment.  
          “The place has ceiling lighting and a plush easy chair in front of me with a small side table next to it,” Snape added informatively.   
          “Any idea who has you?” she asked hopefully.  
          “Yes.”  
          Minerva perked up immediately. Muggles could be easily traced by their name. The Muggle could be found and questioned about Snape’s location. Snape’s portrait would be retrieved quickly. “What’s the name?” she asked pulling out her quill and some paper.

_“Sir!”_

 


	27. Chapter 27

          Holly Wycliff stared with apprehension at the small package the barn owl had dropped in front of her at the breakfast table. Who was it from? They had only returned to class five days earlier so she doubted it came from her parents. Wizard Pilkington? Probably not. He’d already written her a “thank-you” for her work at his Ball and Holly didn’t have any pending business with him that she knew about… That left … _Sir!_ Yes, it would be like him to send sort of a “welcome back to school” note. The Christmas card had totally unnerved her. The outside picture showed a traditional holiday setting with a family of four gathered around a cheery fire. The interior was originally blank. Sir had placed a color copy of the familiar head and shoulders of Holly’s painting of Headmaster Snape on the right side and a single word on the other—“Soon...” Holly looked over at the Gryffindor table. Darn! The Potters weren’t there yet. She’d have to wait to get rid of it. Holly was finished eating but she refilled her glass of juice to stall.  
          “Aren’t you going to open it?” questioned Becky curiously.  
          “No,” Holly answered. “It can wait until Albus gets here…”  
          “Oh, good grief!” exclaimed Lynette impatiently while setting down her bottle of Sabois. “How bad can it be? May I?” she asked. Holly nodded numbly. Lynette reached over and grabbed the package. She tore off the wrapping and opened the box within. “It isn’t from Sir at all!” Lynette announced while peering in the box.  
          “It isn’t?” questioned Holly looking at the box with new interest. She reached out to get it but Lynette held it just out of reach while she looked.  
          “It’s from Crowley!”  
          “Crowley?” said Becky. “Why would she send you anything? Is there a letter to go with it?”  
          “Nope!” pronounced Lynette. “Just a bottle.” She pulled a bottle out for further examination handing the empty box to Holly. The bottle was dark green with a shiny gold coloured stopper.  
          “That’s looks like a potion bottle,” said Eddie. “Why is Crowley sending you a potion? Did you ask her for one?”  
          “Um, no,” answered Holly feeling her face warm with embarrassment. The Hufflepuffs didn’t know she had gone to see Paige before the Holidays.  
          “It’s called “Harmony!” Lynette sang out. “Says it’s to restore _harmony_. What kind of potion is that?”  
          “I don’t know,” mumbled Holly thoroughly uncomfortable with all the attention she was receiving.  
_“Restore_ harmony?” scoffed Vivian Walsh loudly. “What for? Like any of us has lost it in the first place?” The whole table laughed in agreement.  
          “I’ve never heard of a potion named Harmony,” commented Mark. He took the bottle from Lynette and looked at it curiously.  
          “Let me see that!” said Prefect Donna reaching for the bottle. “That sounds like a new creation! You weren’t thinking of _using_ this were you?” she asked Holly.  
          “I don’t know,” replied Holly caught off guard. She hadn’t expected a potion in the first place let alone considered using it… “Why not?”  
          “If you want a proper potion you should always go to a _reputable_ Potions Master not some hack off the streets! I hope you didn’t pay for this?”  
          “No,” mumbled Holly feeling incredibly guilty and relieved at the same time. “I didn’t know anything about it!”  
          “Unsolicited gifts of unknown concoctions!” said Donna reprovingly. “Someone should report her for this! Don’t worry,” she added. “I’ll take care of it.” Donna pulled out her bag and dropped the bottle into it.  
          “How?” asked Holly worriedly.  
          “I’m going to toss it in the trash where it belongs!” Donna told Holly firmly. “Never, _ever_ accept or use unknown potions from questionable people! You could get seriously injured or worse!”  
          “Especially not from Crowley,” chimed in Mickey O’Toole. “She probably has it in for you on some level just because you’re related to the Potters!”  
          “But, she won the potions contest!” protested Holly.  
          “That was _before!_ ” said Marcy Huckaby.  
          “Yeah, _before!_ ” chimed in Cicily Roche and Harriet Dempsey in unison.  
          “Before what?”  
          “Before _Umbridge_!” filled in Eddie Shunpike.   
          “Huh?”  
          “Everyone knows the mind becomes, well, you know, a little unstable after being subjected to the _Imperius Curse_ ,” said Lynette blithely.  
          “It does?” questioned Becky worriedly. Holly knew Becky was remembering the time last year when she and Mark had agreed to the use of the _Imperius Curse_ so Holly would know its effects… The rest of the Hufflepuffs didn’t know about that night.  
          “Only after a prolonged use of the curse,” said Mark reassuringly. “It was used as a defense in the trials after the Great Battle…”  
          “By her own account Crowley was under the _Imperius Curse_ almost a full year, if not longer,” continued Lynette. “Umbridge put all sorts of ideas in her head during that time. There’s no way Crowley hasn’t been permanently messed up!”  
          “That’s the truth,” agreed Clayton.  
          “I wouldn’t trust anything Crowley cooked up even if I watched her brew it myself!” put in Jennifer Woods confidently. “She’s washed up for sure!”  
          Holly stood up stiffly. “I disagree,” she said coldly. She didn’t particularly like Paige but it seemed somehow cruel to say such things about her.  
          “Only because you’re Muggle born and don’t know any better,” said Cicily Roche.  
          “Cicily!” scolded Susan as she reached for her bottle of Sabois. Caroline, her tarantula was balanced on her arm. “You shouldn’t say things like that!” She took a drink from the bottle taking care to not let Caroline drop. It was nice of her to say so, but Holly could tell Susan shared Cicily’s sentiment.  
          “I’d like my potion back, please,” Holly added holding out her hand.  
          “What do you plan do with it?” asked Donna as she reluctantly fished the bottle out of her pack. “Things like this need to be disposed of promptly.”  
          “I don’t know,” Holly answered honestly as she took the bottle from Donna, “I’ll think of something.” Holly slid away from the bench and walked quickly out of the Hall. She knew she couldn’t stop the other Hufflepuffs from speaking like that about Paige, but she didn’t have to listen to it.

**********

          James Potter was so focused on getting into the Great Hall for breakfast that he nearly crashed into Holly on the way out. “Sorry about that!” James said automatically.  
          “Yeah,” Holly muttered and stormed on past.  
          “Hey, Holly!” called out James grabbing hold of her arm to slow her down. “You O.K.?”  
          “I’m fine!” she snapped. Holly shook loose and continued walking.  
          “What’s wrong?” James asked following Holly, breakfast forgotten. “Did Sir send you something?” It suddenly occurred to him that they had missed morning mail and hadn’t been there to screen anything Holly might receive.  
          “No!”  
          “Well, something happened,” argued James moving quickly and stepping in front of Holly blocking her way. “You’re about ready to explode!”  
          “No, I’m not!” denied Holly. She swerved around James and continued walking.  
          James moved again in front of Holly. “Come on!” he told her. “You can talk to me!”  
          Holly stopped. “It’s just that,” she stopped. “They oughtn’t be so mean!”  
          “Who?”  
          “The Hufflepuffs!” Holly exploded. “They shouldn’t say things like that!”  
          “Like what?”  
          “They’re saying Paige’s all washed up just because what happened to her last year!”  
_“Paige?”_ thought James blankly. “Oh, you mean Crowley!” he said aloud. He’d never thought of Crowley by her first name before.  
          “Yeah! Just because of what Umbridge did they’re saying Paige has lost it!”  
          “It?” echoed James.  
          “Her skills!” exclaimed Holly. “She was the best at potions and still is—even Umbridge says so! But the Hufflepuffs say Paige is a has-been; anything she makes can’t be trusted and should be tossed down the drain!”  
          “Oh. What brought that up?” James hadn’t thought about Crowley since the trial. Why was Holly?  
          Holly shifted uncomfortably. “She, ah, sent me something…” Holly replied hesitantly.  
          “Really? What?”  
          Holly drew out a slender dark green bottle with a bright gold top. “This.”  
          James took the bottle and looked at it. “Harmony” and underneath it read: _to restore harmony._ “Why?" he asked curiously. "Did you ask for it?”  
          “Uh, no, but I did talk to her before the Holidays,” she confessed shyly.  
          James drew in a breath. “I’ll try it!” he offered.  
          “Oh, no!” protested Holly. “You don’t have to do that!”  
          “Sure I do,” countered James easily. “Either you try it or you toss it and if you say Crowley is “O.K.” that’s good enough for me. I could use some harmony anyway!”   
          That was the truth. There had been a huge fight in the dorms the previous night. The group had been discussing quidditch and resuming practice for the up-coming game. Conner had said that if the Gryffindors really wanted to win then they should use Albus as one of the beaters, like before. But Lawrence, team captain, said that Sylvia and Taylor fit the team better than Albus ever did… And Jerome said that he thought “winning” was the objective not “fitting.” Rose agreed or rather, disagreed saying that when a team “fits” together they have a better chance of winning… Hugo agreed with his sister, of course. Lily chimed in saying that’s what she thought that’s what “teamwork” was all about… And James, though he knew Albus was a much better beater than Sylvia or Taylor, understood what they meant about “teamwork” and instead of supporting Albus or Lily had ducked down, drank his Sabois and tried to forget all the noise around him. It didn’t work.  
          When things finally died down, another fight flared within the family on how hardheaded Albus was and how he should be open to new ideas… meaning drink Sabois like the rest of the Gryffindors and then maybe they’d ask him back on the team... James tried to duck that one too but it didn’t work because he knew Rose was right about the Sabois and when they flat out asked him, he told Albus so… Albus grabbed a blanket and stormed off saying he needed some peace and quiet. That meant he probably went off to the Memorial to sleep. Conner had moved back into the dorms at night but the Memorial was still a good place for some solitude. James had been so upset by the confrontations that he was unable to get any homework done and it took several bottles of Sabois for him to finally relax enough to sleep. In fact, he had gotten up early to complete the work that should have been done the night before which was why he was late to breakfast.  
          James broke the seal on the bottle. “You got any directions for this?” he asked as he worked the cork up. “Like how much to take?”  
          “No,” admitted Holly. “There wasn’t a letter or anything.”  
          A soft “pop” and the gold coloured stopper with a cork on the bottom came away in his hand. James watched in disbelief as the cork and stopper transfigured turning into a small gold spoon with a carved cork handle. The number “1” appeared in the bowl of the spoon. “That’s handy,” he mused aloud. “I guess it means I take one spoonful… I wonder if that happens every time,” he added thoughtfully.  
          “What?”  
          “The transfiguring a cork and stopper into a spoon trick,” he told Holly. “I’ve never seen it before.”  
          “Oh. Me neither. I know Paige made a spoon that wouldn’t let things spill though,” Holly added informatively. “I didn’t like it,” she confessed.  
          James tipped the bottle and poured some of the contents into the spoon. It was light green in colour and so thick that it took only a few drops to fill spoon. He handed the bottle to Holly and brought the spoon to his mouth.  
          “Seriously,” protested Holly taking hold of his arm. “You don’t have to do this.”  
          “I know,” replied James, “but I want to. Like I said, I could use some harmony.”  
          There was more. James had laid awake in bed almost all night replaying the fights in his head. He felt bad that he hadn’t supported Albus somehow even though he agreed with and knew the others were right. Mum and dad had noted the intensity of the bickering between them during the holidays. Dad had pulled James aside and given him a long talk about how family should “stick together and support each other”… Though dad hadn’t flat out said so, James could tell dad blamed him for not doing more to keep the peace even though it was clearly Albus who should be making the changes. Taking the potion was a way James could show support for Holly and she was “family” too, wasn’t she?  
          “Here goes,” he said closing his eyes and opening his mouth. The potion went down easily. It was cool with a sort of lemon mint flavour. James opened his eyes. “Not bad,” he pronounced. “Do I look or feel any different to you?” Holly looked him over solemnly with her wide green eyes and then shook her head. James shrugged. “Don’t know what it does but at least Crowley knows how to make it taste good.” He looked down at the spoon. A big fat “0” appeared in the bottom of the spoon. _“Pity,”_ he thought to himself with regret. He wouldn’t have minded seconds. James gave the spoon to Holly. She touched the end of the spoon to the mouth of the potion bottle still in her hand and it transfigured back into a cork and stopper. Holly pushed the cork tightly in the bottle.  
          “Thanks!” she whispered with a smile. “I really appreciate it.”  
          Holly walked off and James suddenly remembered he was hungry. He hurried into the Great Hall to find some food.

**********

          A few days later James Potter noticed Holly looking at him. It should have been no big deal. He often saw Holly at mealtime and every so often when he looked over at the Hufflepuff table, he’d see her look up and occasionally their glances would meet. But this was more than a casual glance. Every time James looked Holly’s way, she was staring at him. It wasn’t a casual glance either but a wide-eyed stare and Holly’s face was positively white the whole time! James ignored the wide eyed stare during lunch but when she did it again at dinner, all through dinner, James decided to find out what was up.  
          He finished his meal quickly and then went outside the Great Hall to wait for Holly. She came out eventually, alone, as usual, except if one counted her cat that trailed along behind.  
          “Hey, Holly,” James called out.  
          Holly literally jumped at the sound. “Oh, uh, James,” she said as she turned around drawing her wand defensively at the same time, “you surprised me!” Holly backed away from James stopping only when she bumped into the wall behind her.  
          “Sorry,” James apologized, “but I wanted to talk with you.”  
          “Oh?” That wide stare continued. Holly held her wand defensively and looked ready to run off.  
          “I’ve noticed you’ve been looking at me kind of funny today!” James told her. “What’s going on?”  
          “Oh, uh, nothing,” Holly denied but that wide-eyed stare continued, Holly’s whole body remained tense and she gripped her wand tightly.  
          “It’s got to be something,” argued James. “You look terrified!”  
          Holly continued to stare while James waited for an answer. Sasha wound worriedly around Holly’s feet and then moved over and rubbed herself against James’ legs too. James looked down in surprise at the cat. They weren’t strangers but she’d never been so affectionate before. Holly looked down too. She looked up again at James without as much of the wide-eyed stare. “Is it really you?” she asked hesitantly. She reached out and tentatively touched his arm as she spoke.  
          “Of course it’s me,” replied James looking down at her hand. “Who else?”  
          Holly’s hand dropped back to her side but she didn’t put her wand away. “Um, did you, uh, pass that test, you know, the one you asked me about last fall?”  
          Last fall? That was ages ago. “What test?” James asked but Holly didn’t answer. James struggled to think that far back. “Oh! You mean the Occlumency test?” he asked suddenly remembering. Holly nodded silently. “Don’t I wish,” he replied glumly remembering his disappointment at being told he had failed yet again. “I even joined Flitwick’s choir and it didn’t help.”  
          “Um, I think you should ask for a re-test,” Holly said hesitantly.  
          “Why bother?” he said despondently. “It’s only a waste of everyone’s time.” James had become resigned to the fact he would never manage to pass it.  
          “No, I really think you should ask for a re-test,” insisted Holly again.  
          “It’s pointless,” protested James. “I’ve already tested and failed five times this year! If I haven’t figured it out by now, then I never wi—” James stopped. Holly had once told him she could easily sense his emotions. Why would she suggest he retake the test if she could still—  
          “You mean,” he began hesitantly with growing hope, “you think I could pass?” Holly nodded solemnly. “You’re not kidding me, are you?” Holly shook her head slowly with that same solemn expression. “Seriously?” Holly nodded again. Her green eyes seemed to shine brightly. “Oh, Holly!” James exclaimed excitedly and he grabbed Holly around the waist, lifted her off the ground and swung her in a circle! “Thank you!” he said happily. “I’ve got to see Professor Lovegood!” he told Holly as he put her down. Then he raced to the stairway.  
          Suddenly James skidded to a stop. Professor Lovegood was in the Great Hall still eating…   He reversed directions and headed into the Great Hall giving Holly a cheerful wave as he passed. Maybe he could talk the Professor into doing it tonight…

 **********

          “Holly?”  
          “Yes?” Holly Wycliff turned to face James while mentally congratulating herself for not jumping this time. Of course it wasn’t as much a surprise this time; she could sense Lawrence was coming up behind her and Lawrence and James tended to travel together…  
          “Have you got a minute?”  
          “Um, sure.”  
          It was a week after the potions conversation. When Holly Wycliff saw James Potter the morning after she told him to “retake the test,” he had caught her eye, smiled cheerfully and gave her a quick “thumbs up!” Holly understood it to mean he had passed the test. Not that there was any question of passing it in Holly’s mind. Ever since the test, James seemed to stand taller and there was a bounce to his step that hadn’t been there before.  
          It had been quite a shock to see James with the other students and suddenly realize she couldn’t “sense” him. His emotionless presence had totally unnerved Holly. Thinking back, Holly realized that a part of her had expected James to actually be “Sir” disguised by polyjuice coming to get her! Only Sasha’s calm assurances that she knew and “liked” the person had enabled Holly to believe that it was James, not Sir, in front of her.  
          Paige had always been creepy. After that incident with Umbridge, Holly had never been certain it was Paige looking back at her with those inky black eyes. But that was Paige. Holly never considered Sir would use polyjuice to disguise himself as a woman, but she could see him doing it as another guy. Looking at James without emotions made Holly suddenly realize she would never feel totally secure around any person whose emotions she could not sense.  
          James waited until Lawrence had walked past before speaking again. “You remember that stuff of Crowley’s?” he asked in a hushed voice. “You know, that potion?”  
          “Yeah.” Holly waited apprehensively, certain he would only bring it up because something bad had happened….  
          “Do you think I could maybe borrow it?”  
          “Huh?” That was the last thing she expected to hear. “Why?”  
          “Well, it’s because, uh,” James hesitated and then said, “Well, I’m really not supposed to talk about it but it’s for a good purpose! I swear!” he added earnestly. “And, uh, I’ll return what’s left of it when we’re through. Promise! So, can I have it?”  
          “Uh, sure,” said Holly glad _somebody_ appreciated Paige’s potion. “What’s it do?” she asked curiously as she reached into her bag and rummaged about.  
          “Not sure,” answered James vaguely. “It’s just something we want to try…” Holly pulled out the green bottle and handed it to James. “The potions’ been in your bag all this time?” he questioned curiously.  
          “Yes,” replied Holly simply. She had a sneaking suspicion that if Donna saw it lying around the dorm she would have grabbed and tossed it at the first opportunity. “Take good care of it,” Holly told James.  
          “We will,” assured James with a smile. “Thanks! Gotta go! Bye!” And he hurried to catch up with Lawrence who stood waiting for him at the end of the hall.

**********

          Wizard Dean Thomas, head of Magical Law Enforcement took a deep breath and knocked on the door in front of him.  
          “Enter,” came a familiar voice from within. Dean opened the door and stepped inside.  
          Headmistress McGonagall sat at the desk in front of him. She rose. “Thomas,” she said curtly by way of greeting. “Have a seat,” she offered. Dean pulled up the nearest chair and sat down across from her. McGonagall sat as well. “What do you want?” she asked bluntly when they were both settled.  
          Dean winced at the coolness of her words. Relationships between the Ministry and Hogwarts had soured considerably since the incident with Crowley last spring. Part of it, on McGonagall’s part, was because of the preemptory way the Ministry had tried to remove Miss Crowley from Hogwarts and part was due to the fact that a Hogwarts student, one on the books to become an auror had apparently been under the influence of the _Imperius Curse_ for nearly a full school year and _nobody_ noticed!  
          Accordingly, several members in the Ministry had pushed hard for control of the auror training program. McGonagall had fought equally hard to keep it with Hogwarts. In the end, Hogwarts had won out, but only after a proposal of major revisions on the way things were done had been submitted and approved.  
          “We just received the application for aurors,” Dean began carefully.  
          “Is there anything wrong?”  
          “No, no, they all seem in order…” Dean assured her.  
          “So why are you here?”  
          “Well, I couldn’t help but notice the date of submission…”  
          “So?” McGonagall wasn’t making this easy.  
          “It’s January…”  
          “So?" McGonagall stared at him and waited in stony silence.  
          Dean struggled to find the right words… “Well, it seems to me that usually these applications have come in much earlier.”  
          “There was less paperwork and requirements to fulfill in previous years,” replied McGonagall icily.  
          “Yes, yes, no doubt,” agreed Dean in a conciliatory voice, “but as your staff is very efficient, I can’t help but wonder if there might be another reason for the delay…”  
          “Such as what?”  
          “That’s why I’m here…” Dean replied, “to find out…”  
          “Why?” McGonagall asked bluntly. “These students have fulfilled all requirements. That should be the end of it.”  
          “Normally, it would be,” agreed Dean, “but if there was a second reason, I’d like to know about it…”  
          McGonagall took off her glasses, wiped them off carefully, put them back on and looked closely at Dean. “What’s this about, Thomas?”  
          “I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” answered Dean.  
          “Then neither can I,” answered McGonagall coolly. “I do not micromanage my staff. When the auror candidates completed their requirements, Professor Lovegood forwarded the appropriate paperwork along with their names to me and I passed that information on to your office. We did not discuss … timing.”  
          At the moment the paperwork was turned in, they probably did _not_ discuss timing, but Dean knew McGonagall kept a close tab on student educational progress so he was certain she knew more than she was letting on. Unfortunately, Dean also was well aware that McGonagall was not likely to admit to any difficulties that might have arisen within the auror program to anyone outside of Hogwarts, especially not to a member of the Ministry. Such information may be used as further reason to remove control of the auror program from Hogwarts. How could he breach that wall of silence?  
          Dean took a deep breath. “Lookit,” he began, “I know what happened last summer about the auror training program and I’m sorry, but I had nothing to do with it; it wasn’t me! I’ve been working on a case, a very important case, for the last month and I’ve gotten nowhere! I wouldn’t be here right now except I’m grasping at straws and I got a crazy idea when I saw those January submissions that there could be a connection. I can’t tell you what that connection might be or the case I’m working on because it is top security and I promised to not reveal its nature to _anyone_ without good reason. If there is a connection, then we will be talking in more detail, but until that point I can’t and I won’t break my promise. On the other hand,” Dean offered, “I will keep whatever you say, good or bad, in strictest confidence whether or not it relates to my case.”  
          McGonagall studied Dean silently for a full minute. “Professor Lovegood is in class right now,” she said finally. “Perhaps it would be best if we waited to hear what she has to say on this…”  
          Dean let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

**********

          “That was a great game, Albus,” congratulated Holly enthusiastically. She caught up him while he and Conner were on the way to dinner.  
          “Thanks,” Albus Severus Potter replied with a grin.  
          “What happened?” Holly asked. “I thought you weren’t on the team any more.”  
          “They changed their minds,” Albus said simply. “See you later,” he added cheerfully and hurried to catch up with Conner at the Gryffindor table.  
          There was more to the story than that, of course. James apparently had gotten violently ill while they were suiting up for the match and started vomiting. That’s what Taylor said when he found Albus and told him to get ready to substitute in. Taylor made it clear they were letting Albus play _only_ because they would have too few players otherwise and would have to forfeit the game… Albus found the other players each happily finishing a bottle of Sabois while waiting for his arrival. Before leaving for the infirmary, James had given the team a case of Sabois. He promised a second one after the game, no matter who won, if they would let Albus take his (James’) position as Seeker. Lawrence made it clear everyone already figured they’d loose with Albus playing anyway, but with two cases of Sabois, at least the day wouldn’t be a total loss…  
          Contrary to the dire predictions, the game had been fantastic—Albus had never flown swifter; the rest of the players seemed positively slow in comparison. He happily swooped in and about and practically snatched the snitch from between Malfoy’s fingers winning the game for Gryffindor. The crowds went wild! Albus was on cloud nine and there was even talk of letting him play in another game…  
          Afterwards, while cleaning up, Albus found a classic skiving snackbox under James’ bed with an empty space where a piece of puking pastille should have been. Albus didn’t know why James had fixed it up so he could play in the quidditch match, but he was glad James had.

**********

          “Great game!” greeted Jeremy Corner, a Ravenclaw, as James Potter entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom. “Too bad you were too sick to play or watch…”  
          James grinned. “Maybe next time,” he said cheerfully as he took his seat. Actually, he _hadn’t_ been too sick to play and _had_ watched the game... James had put on the invisible cloak the moment he left the team, took the other half of the puking pastille (the part that made you well) and made a bee line for the stadium finding an unoccupied corner in the Gryffindor section from which to watch.  
          “Is it true you paid the team two cases of Sabois to let Albus play?” asked Jeremy with interest.  
          “Yep,” agreed Lawrence sliding into a chair next to James. “Though in retrospect, I can’t imagine why I didn’t keep Albus on the team in the first place. He flies way better than you, James.”  
          “I know,” admitted James. “But you all had to see him in action to believe it.” The Sabois cases kept the complaints down to a minimum and made it easier to give Albus a chance. “It’s no big deal,” added James surprising himself. The two cases stashed under his bed had represented a major investment on his part. “I wasn’t doing anything with those cases anyway.” That was true. Though he still liked the taste, for some reason James just wasn’t as interested in drinking Sabois as he once was.  
          “You, ah, don’t mind if I keep him on as seeker, do you?” Lawrence asked hesitantly.  
          “Naw,” replied James confidently while leaning back in his chair. “Just as long we win our next match.” James knew his days as Seeker were numbered the moment Albus caught that snitch. It had been a brilliant catch. Oh, he could insist on keeping his place on the team and they’d probably let him, but James would never do that to Albus. As it was, no one in the dorm or on the team questioned Albus’ abilities any more just because he didn’t properly appreciate Sabois; the team “fit” vs. Albus arguments had ended; Lily thought her brother was a hero and there was peace within the family. All of that felt better than any flight on a broomstick.  
          The huge mirror on the side swung open and Professor Lovegood stepped into the room. Today she wore a tan robe with a pair of small dark brown pretzels dangling from her ears. On her head was a beret that looked more like a round loaf of crusty bread than a hat.  
          “Congratulations!” said Professor Lovegood with a smile as she walked to the front of the class. The security checks have finished, your paperwork verified and your applications have been approved. “You are now all officially … _auror_ students!”  
          James Potter cheered along with Lawrence and Jeremy. They had thought of themselves as auror students for a long time now, trained as if they were, and now, it was finally official.  
          James had had his doubts when Professor Lovegood started questioning the group about how they had all suddenly passed the Occlumency test. He understood her skepticism; how could a few drops of potion accomplish what should have taken years of study and practice to achieve? And he was _very_ worried when the head of Magical Law Enforcement, Wizard Thomas pulled them all aside and asked the very same things! James was afraid Wizard Thomas would invalidate their scores because potions were not the expected way to pass the Occlumency test. Instead, Wizard Thomas insisted they all be tested again and again… Then Wizard Thomas confiscated the potion and swore them all to secrecy about the matter.  
          After that, James worried even more that their use of Harmony had somehow gotten Holly into trouble; perhaps Crowley had done something wrong for making it in the first place. He longed to ask Holly about it but couldn’t, not directly anyhow, because of the secrecy thing. So James kept a watchful eye on Holly determined to do what he could for her if it seemed necessary. He noted with surprise that Holly came in for meals with Albus and Conner. He hadn’t realized the three had taken to hanging out together. The knowledge made James feel better. He was certain Albus would let him know if Holly was having any problems.  
          “Now that you have all successfully passed the Occlumency test,” continued Professor Lovegood serenely, (more cheers!) “I have added one more member to our practice session, one who will keep you on your toes and make sure you don’t slip up on your Occlumency skills.” James looked around at his classmates; their expressions of curiosity mirrored his own feelings.  
          “If you will follow me,” the Professor added walking back towards the mirror. She raised her wand and pointed it to the mirror. It swung open like a door and she stepped inside. James, Lawrence and Jeremy followed.  
          There was a person seated in a chair within the room. James stopped in his tracks. “Holly?” he questioned in surprise.  
          “Um, hi everybody,” greeted Holly standing hastily from her chair. Sasha slid off and moved quickly towards the other students.  
          “What are you doing here?” asked James in disbelief while Sasha twined happily around his legs.  
          “Well, it’s not like I can duel people with emotions, you know,” Holly replied shyly. “I really am glad you have finally passed your Occlumency test,” she added. “I’ve kind of missed dueling…”


	28. Chapter 28

          Dean Thomas hastened to answer the door the moment he heard the knock. “Miss Crowley?” he questioned merely as a curtsey; he easily recognized her pale slim figure and dark black hair from the trial. “I’m Wizard Thomas,” he added introducing himself. No doubt she recognized him from the trial too but they’d never been formally introduced. “Please come in,” Dean continued with a smile as he backed away to let her in. The smile froze on Dean’s face as a second curly-haired person stepped into view.  
          “I believe you know my solicitor, Wizard Pilkington,” said Miss Crowley in a cool voice as she glided into the room.  
          “Ah, yes, we’ve met,” Dean managed to stammer. _“Damn!”_ he thought. _“What is he doing here?”_  
          “Miss Crowley contacted me when you notified her of this meeting,” said Wizard Pilkington smoothly while forcing his way into the room. “Given Miss Crowley’s prior difficulties with members of the Ministry, I thought it advisable to come along. I’m sure you understand…”  
          Unfortunately, Dean did. Witch Umbridge had been a member of the Ministry when she had done all those things to Miss Crowley last year…  
          “That’s of course assuming you asked her here on official business,” continued Wizard Pilkington without missing a beat. “If this meeting is of a more personal nature, I will of course step outside and wait until your business is concluded. So, is this business or personal?”  
          “Uh, business,” admitted Dean reluctantly.  
          “Excellent,” said Wizard Pilkington while smiling broadly. He drew out his wand and conjured a chair off to one side. “Is Miss Crowley in any trouble?” he asked as he pulled a chair out at the table in the center of the room for Miss Crowley.  
          “Uh, no, no she isn’t,” replied Dean while Miss Crowley sat down. “At least I have no reason to believe she is…”  
          “So is this an interview or an interrogation?” questioned Wizard Pilkington while he sat down in the chair he had conjured.  
          “I just have some questions…” began Dean uncomfortably. He didn’t like the way Wizard Pilkington had somehow taken over the conversation…  
          “Ah,” said Pilkington knowingly. “Might I ask why you wanted to ask these questions here instead of at the Ministry where such things are usually done?”  
          “Because,” Dean fumbled for the right words, “because of the difficulties Miss Crowley had with the Ministry,” Dean answered smoothly regaining his composure. “I thought she might be more comfortable talking to me here than there… I’m sure you understand…”  
          “Of course,” agreed Pilkington. “Have a seat,” Pilkington gestured grandly to the remaining empty chair, “and ask away. Don’t worry,” Pilkington assured Dean. “I am the soul of discretion. Nothing said here will ever leave my lips; I’m only here to protect Miss Crowley’s rights.”  
          Dean stared at Pilkington with open dislike as he cautiously sat down across from Miss Crowley. What was Pilkington doing trying to run the meeting? Dean could see now why no one wanted to go against Pilkington in a trial. Pilkington had a reputation for honesty, but he protected his clients like a mother dragon protected her eggs! Unfortunately, Dean realized Pilkington wouldn’t leave and he needed to talk with Crowley.  
          “Yes, well, something came up the other day that I wanted to ask you about,” Dean began focusing his attention on Crowley while trying to ignore Pilkington. Crowley was equally disconcerting. Whereas Pilkington’s eyes’ twinkled with unspoken humour, Crowley’s black eyes stared right through Dean. She didn’t speak waiting for Dean to continue. So Dean did. He drew out a small green bottle with a gold stopper plainly labeled “Harmony” and placed it on the table in front of her. “Is this yours?” he asked.  
          Crowley looked at the bottle without expression. “No.” she said coolly.  
          “Do you deny making this potion?” he asked.  
          “No.”  
          Dean waited for further explanation but none came. Instead, Crowley stared intently at him with unblinking black eyes. Dean tried again. “Did you send this potion to Miss Wycliff?”  
          “Yes.”  
          Dean stared back with exasperation. “Then it _is_ yours!”  
          “No.”  
          “You didn’t make it?”  
          “No.”  
          “You did make it?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “Then why didn’t you say so earlier?”  
          “By your own statement, I believe the potion is now Miss Wycliff’s,” interjected Pilkington’s calm voice.  
          Dean glared at Pilkington. Pilkington had a solemn expression on his face but those eyes still seemed to twinkle. Pilkington was right, of course, and Dean was angry at himself for not recognizing that Crowley was splitting hairs in her answers, a tactic often used by people who did not wish to be interviewed. He probably would have seen what Crowley was doing sooner had he not been so rattled by Pilkington’s presence. This was going to be a difficult interview. Dean returned his attention to Crowley. “Why did you make it?” he asked.  
          Crowley stared back at him without comment but Dean waited for an answer. Crowley finally blinked and spoke. “I was bored,” she finally said.  
          Yeah, this was going to be a difficult interview. At least they had progressed to three-word responses. “Of course,” agreed Dean aloud determined to not loose his temper again. “But why this particular potion?” Crowley stared at him with those piercing black eyes and Dean waited.  
          “It seemed the thing to do,” she finally said.  
_“Right!”_ thought Dean with frustration. _“This was going nowhere!”_ “Tell me about your potion,” he asked aloud changing the subject.  
          Again Crowley stared at him and Dean waited. Finally, she spoke. “It restores harmony.”  
          “That’s what it says on the bottle,” agreed Dean, “but could you tell me more? What kind of harmony? Who should take it?”  
          “Those who desire harmony,” answered Crowley vaguely.  
          “What kind of harmony?” persisted Dean.  
         “Harmony is harmony,” answered Crowley coolly. “The name needs no further explanation.”  
_“Sure it does!”_ argued Dean mentally. But short of browbeating or using some spells he wasn’t supposed to know about, none of which he could do in front of Pilkington, Dean doubted he would get a more detailed response from Crowley. “What about other effects?” questioned Dean. That was the important part anyway.  
          “Other effects?”  
          “Yes, some potions can be used for more than one thing,” Dean added explaining further. “What about Harmony?”  
          “Only for harmony,” Crowley answered definitively.  
          “Side effects?”  
          “None.”  
          “None at all?” questioned Dean. He knew many potions made for one thing often had unanticipated side effects… That was one of the tricky parts in making new potions.  
          “None.”  
          “Are you certain?” persisted Dean. “I mean some people who make new potions often create side effects they didn’t expect…” That was the usual “out” for potions gone wrong…  
          “Certain!” snapped Crowley. Her black eyes flashed angrily displaying emotion for the first time.  
          “Well, I disagree!” stated Dean definitively. “Either your definition of “Harmony” is a lot different from mine or your potion has side effects you refuse to acknowledge or about which you know nothing!”  
          “What?” Crowley challenged.  
          “If you don’t already know then I can’t tell you,” Dean informed her. “It’s classified. But I can assure you it is a matter of the gravest importance.” Dean studied Crowley’s face closely but could see no emotion, no indication that she was hiding anything. That was not good. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. They were at an impasse. It would have been much easier had Crowley known what he was talking about, easier for him, not her. Had she actually known, then it would have meant she was probably a part of the problem he was trying to resolve. Not knowing meant he had to find another way to learn what he needed to continue his investigation.  
          “Let’s back track a bit,” Dean suggested. “I want you to tell me about your meeting with Miss Wycliff—everything.” Holly had to be the key somehow. Something she said or did caused Crowley to make the potion and that “something” could be his next focus.  
          Unfortunately Crowley was less than cooperative. She stared again at him with those inky black eyes and then spoke. “Wycliff?” she questioned softly.  
          Dean sighed again and inwardly rolled his eyes. She was going to make him drag it out of her piecemeal… “You _did_ meet with Miss Wycliff, didn’t you?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “And you talked?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “What about?”  
          “Ask Wycliff.”  
          “I’m asking you!” Dean said with frustration. He had already asked Holly. That had been a dismal experience. She had looked at him with the eyes of a frightened deer, clutched her wand tightly, barely spoke and acted as if she couldn’t get away soon enough. Holly hadn’t been that way before. Dean could only guess that it had been Harry’s presence, Winonan’s, Vasari’s or a combination that had enabled Holly to be so cooperative earlier.  
          If he got nowhere with Crowley, Dean would have to return to Holly. But he hated to do that; McGonagall had made it clear he could not question Holly again without either Potter or Pilkington present. He’d have to explain to either what was going on before they would agree to help and Dean had given his word to not talk. “What did you talk about?” asked Dean.  
          “That’s private.”  
          “You saying she consulted you?”  
          “Yes.” That wasn’t what Holly had said; Holly had mumbled something about her cat and denied that anything else had been said between them.  
          “And paid you for your services?”  
          “No.”  
          “Then it was not a “consultation” so there is no reason you cannot tell me what was said.” Not that there was anyway, Crowley was not licensed as a Potions Mixer and could not claim client confidentially as a reason for silence.  
          “A consultation is a consultation with or without payment.”  
          Dean studied Crowley. Her words and expression seemed determined. How could he persuade her to talk?  
          “It would seem that your assurances of the severity of the situation is not enough to persuade Miss Crowley to relax her standards of morality,” came Pilkington’s soft voice. “Perhaps, if you could give her a better idea of the information you seek…”  
          “I can’t!” asserted Dean with frustration.  
          “But you could, if she were in your employment?”  
          “An auror, perhaps,” agreed Dean absently, “but no one else; that’s how serious this is!”  
          “Then I have a suggestion that might easily resolve this situation…”  
          “What?” snapped Dean impatiently.  
          “Make her an auror.”  
          “What?!!!” Dean looked at Pilkington in astonishment.  
          “I believe Miss Crowley submitted an application to be an auror last year,” began Pilkington softly.  
          “Well, yes, but—”  
          “One that was _approved_ by the Ministry but never acted upon…”  
          “Well, yes, but—”  
          “I think we can count her time with the French Potions Masters as the required outside internship,” continued Pilkington smoothly, “so if I understand these things correctly, all that remains is the Unbreakable Vow before formal employment…”  
          “But that was before...” Dean stopped. That had all been done before they found out about Umbridge… Dean knew that Crowley’s application, subsequent background check and approval had been buried under mounds of paperwork never to see the light of day rather than issue a rejection that would admit Ministry Officials had made a mistake. You couldn’t just hire someone after she had done the bidding of a Dark Wizard. What if it happened again?  
          “Who better to combat Dark Wizards than one who has suffered at their hands,” persisted Pilkington persuasively…  
          Dean looked at Crowley thoughtfully. Pilkington had a point… Then again… “No!” protested Dean aloud. “It’s impossible! I don’t even know the oath!”  
          “I do!” volunteered Pilkington.  
          “You do?” asked Dean in surprise. The Auror Oath Ceremony was not a public event and certainly not something an independent solicitor should know.  
          “Yes. I read it in a book once.”  
          “And remembered it?”  
          “Of course!” Pilkington answered proudly.  
          “You would!” muttered Dean in annoyance, _“You’re a Ravenclaw!”_ Still, the Auror Oath was an Unbreakable Vow. Taking it would go far to prove Crowley was not involved and he needed to know what she knew…  
          “Do you still wish to become an auror?” Dean asked Crowley directly. A lot had changed since that application had been submitted and an Unbreakable Vow once taken could not be undone.  
          Miss Crowley looked back at him. Her piercing black eyes seemed to bore right through him but remained unwavering as she said simply, “Yes.”  
          “That’s it then,” announced Pilkington cheerfully as if it were a done deal, not even waiting for Dean to agree. “You can be the Ministry representative and I’ll act as bonder!” He stood, drew out his wand and waited expectantly.  
          Dean looked from Crowley to Pilkington feeling uncomfortably as if he was being railroaded into this. Noting the cheerful glint in Pilkington’s eyes Dean was certain he was being railroaded! It suddenly occurred to Dean that Pilkington had come along not only to protect Crowely’s rights, but to get her employed! Not only that, Dean had a sneaking suspicion that Pilkington had specifically looked up the Oath and the bonding spell on the off chance he’d get the opportunity to use it… Still, it might be useful to have a seemingly “discredited” auror on the books…  
          “Please stand and hold out your right hand,” instructed Pilkington to Crowley. Crowley stood and stepped away from the table. Dean slowly stood as well. He moved forward so the two were facing each other. As Crowley lifted her slim pale hand with its perfectly manicured fingernails, Dean even wondered if Pilkington had suggested to Crowley that she be uncooperative for the very purpose of manipulating Dean into making this happen but discarded the idea; he’d seen Crowley at the trial. She seemed just as quiet and unemotional there as well…  
          “Now, hold her hand in yours…” directed Pilkington. Dean looked down uncomfortably. Usually Kingsley did this part, but as Head of Magical Law Enforcement, he supposed he could do it as well. Slowly he raised his hands and cupped Crowley’s within. Pilkington placed the tip of the wand so it touched the palm of Crowley’s outstretched hand. “Will you, Paige Brenna Crowley swear to support the Ministry?”  
          Crowley looked up at Dean; their eyes met as she said, “I will.” A thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the wand and wrapped around their hands like a red-hot wire. Dean didn’t see it happen but he’d seen this ceremony often enough to know the source of the hot needle-like sensations he suddenly felt around his wrist. It stung, like a ring of hot needles piercing his skin. Then a searing heat seemed to course steadily through his body. Though uncomfortable, neither sensation was unbearable. The trick was to focus on the words and their intent and nothing else. Dean kept his eyes on Crowley seeking any sign of hesitation or insincerity.  
          “And will you seek out, remove, eliminate, undo and/or destroy all forms of Dark Magic wherever it may be found?”  
          “I will.” Dean felt a short jolt at his wrist as a second tongue of flame shot from the wand and interlinked with the first making a fine glowing chain. He knew Crowley had felt the same but her face gave no indication of feeling it.  
          “And will you seek out and expose the presence of Dark Wizards wherever and whom ever they may be?”  
          “I will.” Dean felt another jolt go through his arm as a third tongue of flame shot from the wand and twisted with the others.  
          “And will you further swear to combat and defeat Dark Wizards to the best of your ability?”  
          “I will.” Crowley never blinked, wavered or flinched as the fourth tongue of flame shot from the wand twisted with the others and bound itself thickly around their  hands like a fiery rope.  
          Now came the hard part, hard for Crowley, that is. The bands would glow fiery red and somehow dissolve into their bodies. Dean only felt a mild sensation as he’d already taken the oath and this was merely a renewal. No one could be Head of Magical Law Enforcement without also being an auror these days. Dean knew the pain would be more intense for Crowley as it was for his first time. The energy of the spell would course through her body, charging it, changing it, binding the words to her very essence making the oath the sum total of her existence.  
          The energy swirling through their bodies abruptly stopped. Dean felt Crowley stagger slightly at the suddenness. Dean looked down at their hands. The red “rope” holding their wrists together was gone. He released Crowley’s hand and she lowered it down to her side. The bonding spell had ended. If the oath hadn’t been Crowley’s intent before, it was now.  
          “Congratulations, Miss Crowley,” said Pilkington in a quiet voice. “You are now an auror. I think I shall make my exit now so the two of you may talk in private, employer to employee, so to speak.” Without waiting for a response, Pilkington moved swiftly to the door, opened it and left, closing the door behind him.

**********

          “What side effect!” demanded Crowley the moment the door closed leaving the two together alone. “I made sure there was none, _none!”_ Crowley’s cool calm demeanor was totally gone and her eyes flashed angrily when she spoke.  
          “Occlumency!” snapped Dean in response. It felt good to say the word out loud, knowing he could to ask questions directly instead dancing around the subject, bound by the need for secrecy. He was certain Crowley held the key to his nightmare, certain she would help because of the vow.  
          “What?” Dean saw the surprise in Crowley’s eyes and felt relief; she clearly did not know what he was talking about. That meant Crowley was truly not involved with any of this, whatever it was.  
          “Occlumency,” repeated Dean. “People take Harmony and can do Occlumency!”  
          “That’s impossible!” said Crowley sinking into the chair besides the table.  
          “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” agreed Dean sitting down as well, “but I’ve got three students at Hogwarts who say otherwise.  
          “No!” she whispered. “I made certain!”  
          “Yeah, well those three flunked every Occlumency test they took until mid January. Then they all passed with flying colours—twice!” More than that, actually. “They swear the only thing they did differently between tests was take your potion!”  
          “It can’t be!” Crowley insisted. “I took every precaution! There’s nothing in that potion that has anything to do with—besides, Occlumency can’t be achieved by spell or potion! Are you sure?”  
          “Positive!” Dean confirmed. “I double-checked it myself! There is no doubt in their minds that taking your potion did the trick!” Nor in his.  
          “They took my potion and could do Occlumency just like that?” Crowley persisted in disbelief.  
          “Just like that,” confirmed Dean. “Well,” he amended, “they took it, waited two days and _then_ took the test.” James had apparently told the others that Holly had suggested he retake the test two days after he had taken the potion so the other auror candidates decided to wait for at least two days before trying to retake the test themselves, just to be on the safe side…  
          Crowley’s whole body seemed to jerk. “Two days?” she questioned sharply.  
          “Yeah, two days,” confirmed Dean. “That mean something?”  
          “Maybe?” she said thoughtfully. “But I’d have to see someone who has taken the potion to be sure…”  
          Dean swallowed nervously. “I’ve, ah, taken the potion…” he admitted hesitantly while shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Like Crowley, Dean knew Occlumency couldn’t be achieved by the use of potions so he hadn’t really believed the auror candidates. Oh, he’d heard what they said, but had been certain their success was actually due to something else. So Dean refused to pursue the lead further unless he confirmed for himself that the potion “worked.” Unfortunately, Dean couldn’t take the potion to anyone else to check out without explaining the purpose so he had tried it on himself… The relief Dean had felt when he actually passed the Occlumency test two days later had been indescribable.  
          In response Crowley sat up straight in her chair. “May I see your hands,” she asked in a professional tone. Dean held out his hands. Crowley stared at them turning them over examining fingertips as well. Then she leaned forward. “Open your mouth,” she ordered. Dean did as he was told while wondering what she was looking for. “Do you fancy that new drink, Sorbi?” Crowley asked conversationally while peering in his mouth.  
          “Sorbi? Uh, yeah,” Dean answered while trying to keep his mouth open.  
          “Stick out your tongue. Been drinking a lot of it lately?”  
          “Not so much,” Dean admitted. He’d been busy doing other things…  
          “Lift your tongue up,” she ordered. Dean did. “There’s a new drink at Hogwarts, too,” Crowley continued in that conversational voice. “It’s called Sabois. Down. It’s apparently quite popular. Thank you. You may close your mouth now.” Dean closed his mouth. “Miss Wycliff wanted to know more about it.”  
          “Oh?”  
          “Yes.” Crowley reached out extending a finger with a perfectly manicured nail, a long nail coated with lime green fingernail polish, “May I?” she questioned indicating she wanted to touch his face.  
          “Uh, yeah.”  
          “Miss Wycliff reported that all the Hufflepuffs liked the drink, except her.” Crowley touched his lower right eyelid and pulled down.  
          “Oh?” Dean wondered how all this connected.  
          Crowley peered deeply into Dean’s eye. “Look up.” Dean did. “She felt she was being treated differently because she didn’t like the drink… Look right.”  
          “Did she?”  
          “Yes. Look down. But in talking, she decided she was being selfish for resenting their happiness. Look left.”  
          Dean looked left while keeping his head still. “She did?”  
          “Yes. She apologized for bothering me and left.” Crowley removed her finger and placed her hand in her lap while staring intently at Dean.  
          “But you decided to investigate anyway?” he guessed.  
          “Yes.”  
          “Why?” he asked curiously.  
          “The Hufflepuffs take all the _rejects_!” Crowley said disdainfully. “The oddballs and misfits! Those not good enough for the other houses. It is statistically impossible that they should _all_ like the same drink.”  
          “All except Wycliff,” echoed Dean thoughtfully. She had a point. That did seem rather odd. “What did you find out?”  
          “There is nothing of significance in Sabois. It is a collection of herbs, seeds and spices and no flavouring.”  
          “Oh.” Dean was not surprised. He knew all drinks were tested and Sabois couldn’t be sold if it hadn’t tested clean. “But your potion?” he questioned.  
          “The bottle, however, was another matter,” Crowley continued as if he hadn’t spoken.  
          “Oh?” This was new. “What about the bottle?”  
          “There was something on the outside.”  
          “The outside?”  
          “Yes, the outside contained a combination of minerals and herbs. It was harmless but I recognized one compound as one used when something is intended to be absorbed directly into the body through the skin.”  
          “Through the skin?”  
          “Yes, like a suntan lotion. I’m guessing there was a thin layer of an ointment on the neck of the bottle.  
          “An ointment?” exclaimed Dean with surprise.  
          “Yes. Clear. It was probably dried on and then reconstituted when a chilled bottle sweated. The ointment is transferred to the hand whenever a person picks up a bottle. It soaks into the hand and goes directly into the bloodstream. The two, Sabois and ointment, combine and create a memory potion.”  
          “A memory potion?”  
          “Yes. Something similar to what parents give their children at night for sweet dreams.”  
          “Dreams?”  
          “Yes, in this case the combination creates a potion that causes the drinker to reflect on strong memories usually memories connected to taste. The memories can be so strong, that in the mind of the person drinking, the drink takes on the taste connected to the memory making the flavour of the drink unique for each person. Usually, those memories are positive so the taste is also good, good enough to cause the person drinking to go back again and again to relive both taste and memory.”  
          “And you didn’t say anything?” Dean was appalled at the scam pulled over on the Hogwarts students.  
          “Why? Nothing illegal has been done. Wizard Ercwlff obviously found a way to follow the rules while making a huge profit. Very enterprising,” she concluded with a touch of admiration to her voice.  
_“It was enterprising,”_ agreed Dean reluctantly to himself, _“if it worked as Crowley said, but how did that connect up with Occlumency or her potion?”_ “Your potion?” Dean asked aloud.  
          “My potion countered the memory potion,” Crowley answered simply.  
          “That has nothing to do with Occlumency,” observed Dean.  
          “No,” she agreed. “But Harmony is a slow acting potion and takes approximately two days to fully counter the memory potion.”  
          “Two days?” questioned Dean becoming instantly alert. That number _did_ connect. “But I’ve never had Sabois,” he countered.  
          “Sabois and Sorbi are one and the same,” Crowley replied.  
          “What!!!??”  
          “Ingenious, isn’t it?” she complimented coolly. “Why mix two drinks when only one is needed? What adult would ever consider drinking Sabois thus be in a position to notice the similarities? In the same sense, what student would ever be caught drinking something favored by the “old” folks?”  
          “How did you learn all this?” Dean asked cautiously. The story Crowley told rang true but was it? He couldn’t afford to accept it at face value.  
          “Wycliff left a bottle of Sabois behind and Richards brought a bottle of Sorbi to share. The similarities were obvious when placed side by side.”  
          “And the memory potion part?”  
          “Richards wrapped his bottle in a towel to keep the sweat off his clothes when he brought it to me. The towel did not dry as one damp with water should…  
          “Was there ointment on the outside of the Sabois bottle as well?” questioned Dean.  
          “No, but I made my potion on the assumption that the similarities did not stop with the contents...”  
          “So,” he began slowly, “you are saying that your potion does not create Occlumency, but counters the effect of another potion that might somehow be _preventing_ the practice of Occlumency?”  
          “So it would seem…” Crowley replied calmly. “There _is_ no side effect!” she added with satisfaction.


	29. Chapter 29

          Dean Thomas considered what to do next. He would need additional evidence to prosecute. But that could come later. First, he had to re-establish magical security within the Ministry. That took potion, lots of potion. He lifted his head and looked at Crowley. “Can you make some more Harmony?” he asked.  
          She nodded. “How much?”  
          How much? Dean drew in a breath. “Sorbi is really popular within the Ministry,” he told her carefully. “I’ll need enough for everyone employed by the Ministry.” Several junior officials had aspirations of moving up the ranks. Who knew how many of them had been unable to qualify because of the drink? Crowley’s eyes widened slightly at the request but she nodded again.  
          “How long will it take?”  
          “Three weeks,” she replied firmly.  
          “Good,” said Dean relieved to think that the security nightmare would be over soon. “I can’t pay you for the potion, per se,” Dean added regretfully. Crowley had no license. “But I can pay you for materials and time. Deliver the potion to me directly and include an invoice.” Dean was determined to dig out Crowley’s Potion Mixer paperwork and see it got approved as soon as possible. It didn’t look good to have an un-licensed Potions Mixer doing work for the Ministry.  
          “What effect does Harmony have on people not affected with the memory potion?” asked Dean next. Kingsley hadn’t been tested. Dean was fairly certain Kingsley had been affected by Sorbi too, but he wasn’t positive…  
          “It has no effect on those not affected by the memory potion,” she answered confidently.  
          “That’s good to know.” Three weeks was too long to wait for the Minister of Magic. Dean was determined to give Kingsley a dose of Harmony immediately before returning the bottle to Professor Lovegood. He would insist everyone else employed by the Ministry take a dose of Harmony as well just to make sure… Dean wanted no one under Ministry employment under the constant effects of any magical potion. Another thought occurred to him. “Can it be used as a preventative?”  
          “No. Given the right circumstances, you could again be affected by the memory potion.”  
          “Bare hands and another sweaty bottle?” questioned Dean aloud.  
          “Yes…”  
_“Too bad,”_ thought Dean. It would have been nice to have the threat of this particular memory potion eliminated once and for all… With the major security risk on the verge of a resolution Dean turned his attention to the source of the problem: Sorbi. Crowley had been right; though sneaky and immoral, there was no actual law against what Wizard Ercwlff had done. Ercwlff! Crowley was working for him! Dean had gotten a full report on Crowley before this interview; Crowley had taken a job as a store clerk for him! “Did he put you up to this?” Dean asked Crowley suddenly.  
          “Huh?” she asked in surprise.  
          “Wizard Ercwlff. You work for him don’t you?”  
          “Yes.”  
          “Did he put you up to this?”  
          “To what?”  
          “I’m fairly certain you didn’t know about the Occlumency part,” Dean told her, “but that doesn’t mean Wizard Ercwlff was equally ignorant. Did he encourage you to make Harmony and send it to Miss Wycliff?” In the absence of any indication of strange dreams or blackmail notes, Dean had been racking his brain for a cause behind the Occlumency problems. Personal profit made a good explanation. It would have been a very lucrative business, selling Sorbi on one side and then secretly selling the potion that offset what Sorbi did…  
          “No,” answered Crowley without hesitation.  
          “Does he know you did it?”  
          “No.”  
          “Are you positive?”  
          “You question my word?” she asked icily.  
          “Yes,” replied Dean flatly. “I know you’re now an auror, but this should have been asked sooner. You were Umbridge’s puppet for nearly a year. How can you be sure it hasn’t or won’t happened again?”  
          Crowley stared at Dean a full minute before answering and Dean stared back waiting for a response. If looks could freeze an ocean, hers would have easily. “How can anyone?” she finally challenged. “But Umbridge is in prison. I don’t drink Sorbi _or_ Sabois and I don’t visit members of the Ministry without an … escort!” That last part was a cut against him as Umbridge had been a member of the Ministry when she did all those things; they should have known what she was up to…  
          “Um, actually Umbridge is not in prison,” corrected Dean uncomfortably. She was an auror now and aurors had to know…  
_“WHAT!!!_ Since when?”  
          “Since sometime during the summer,” Dean confessed. “We figure she traded information for freedom…”  
          “What kind of information?” Crowley’s eyes seemed to flash daggers through Dean.  
          “About Holly. Sir made some comments that led Holly to suspect he’d been talking to Umbridge so we checked and she wasn’t there…”  
          “And you didn’t tell me?”  
          “You were safe enough in France at the time,” replied Dean defensively. “We kept things quiet so Umbridge wouldn’t know we were looking for her. Besides, Holly was Umbridge’s target all along, not you. You were only a tool. Umbridge is a very practical witch, Dean added reflectively. “There would be no advantage to Umbridge in advertising her escape by going after you…” Crowley inky black eyes seemed to bore accusingly into Dean. “I, uh, will send you a copy of what we know about the escape and of the info we have on Sir, as we’re all still looking for him too.” Dean shifted uneasily in his seat and added, “Since we’re certain Sir talked to Umbridge, I guess there’s a chance he may know things about you too, though I can’t imagine why it would be of interest to him… Tell me about Wizard Erwlff,” Dean suddenly asked changing the subject while avoiding the accusing glare Crowley was giving him.  
          “Quiet, unassuming, smart, good with numbers,” she began in reflection. “Watchful. I don’t see him much but he doesn’t miss anything that goes on in the store.”  
          “How much does Wizard Erwlff know that you know?”  
          “What do you mean?”  
          “Does he know you know about his Sabois/Sorbi trick or the memory potion?”  
          “I have not told him; I assume not.”  
          “But your work at his business,” persisted Dean. “Doesn’t that include some of this?”  
          “I only sell filled bottles from the shelf,” replied Crowley. “Richards delivers the Sorbi and Sabois cases to designated destinations…”  
          “You’re not involved with production?”  
          “No.”  
          “So you haven’t actually seen Wizard Ercwlff put something on the outside of the bottles?”  
          “No.”  
          “Interesting,” mused Dean thoughtfully. That meant they had no actual proof Wizard Ercwlff was the cause of the memory potion. “I am putting you on active duty,” decided Dean aloud. Aurors were given a tiny retainer just for being aurors and were free to pursue any life they chose unless a situation came up that required their specific attention. Then the aurors were called to “active” duty and given a full salary for the duration of the assignment.  
          “I want you to find out if Wizard Ercwlff is indeed creating the memory potion and if the Occlumency part is an “unknown” side effect or a deliberate part of Wizard Ercwlff’s beverage business. It’s easy enough to stop the sale of these drinks,” he told Crowley, “but will that stop the security threat? If Wizard Ercwlff deliberately sold a memory potion _knowing_ it could seriously cripple the whole Ministry then we need to take more serious action against him.”  
          “Yes, sir.”  
          “Your potion!” Dean added suddenly. “Put it in an unlabeled bottle. It’s bound to affect sales and I don’t want to risk the potion being traced back to you. Make sure it is delivered directly to me. It goes without saying that none of this Occlumency stuff goes beyond these walls…”  
          “Yes, sir.”  
          “I guess that’s it for now, then,” said Dean leaning back. “I’ll send so—”  
          “Not quite,” interrupted Crowley coolly.  
          “Oh?”  
          “Wizard Pilkington.”  
          “Pilkington?”  
          “Yes. He seems to have taken a fancy to Sorbi.”  
          “He has?” Of course Dean had seen Pilkington with a bottle or two in hand; he’d seen nearly everyone at the Ministry with a bottle of Sorbi at one time or another, but an “appreciation” of Sorbi took on new meaning now.  
          “Yes. Knowing what I know now, I would feel much more comfortable if my solicitor was not at risk from … outside influences. Should I suggest he take some Harmony now, after our conversation, he’s sure to make connections you don’t wish made. Could you arrange for him to receive a dose of Harmony too?”  
          “Yes, yes of course,” answered Dean readily while mentally kicking himself for not realizing sooner that Pilkington’s friendly “tip” last December had been more than civicly motivated. Dean had no idea whether Pilkington practiced Occlumency or not but doing so would be a good idea for a solicitor. No doubt Holly’s mention of “too many emotions” had included Pilkington’s as well. “I’ll take care of it,” he assured Crowley. Pilkington had done the Ministry a favour by bringing to his attention the Occlumency breach; it felt good to have a chance to return that favour. “Anything else?”  
          “No.”  
          “Then I’ll send someone to you later with keys, passwords and the paperwork to sign. I want you to report directly to me on this one and no one else,” he added sternly. “Let me know when you learn something.”  
          “Yes, sir.”

 **********

          “Severus wishes to speak with you,” came Albus Dumbledore’s quiet voice from overhead.  
          “He does?” Minerva McGonagall asked in surprise. She had just sat down at the desk in her office with a cup of tea before beginning her morning duties. She twisted around and looked up at Snape’s portrait. He wasn’t there. The frame that held Snape’s portrait was, as usual, empty at the moment. It had been mostly empty since before the holidays. Snape couldn’t risk the Muggles or Sir finding the portrait frame empty. The portrait of Snape hadn’t spoken much since the revelation of being stolen by Sir. Though Sir had visited the room frequently, he had never said or done anything that revealed more about his identity or location.  
          “Yes,” said the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. “Ten o’clock,” he added.  
          “This morning?” asked Minerva surprised. Midday. That seemed to be a risky time; people were up and about then.  
          “Yes,” confirmed Albus.  
          “Very well,” agreed Minerva. No doubt Snape knew better than she when Sir was least likely to visit his portrait. “I’ll be here.”

**********

          “Tell your aurors they can quit looking for make-up and costumes or a polyjuice swilling wizard,” Snape said bluntly at exactly ten o’clock. Snape was never one for formalities.  
          “Oh?” questioned Minerva as she looked up at the grim face who walked into the portrait frame and sat down. She had sat on the opposite side of her desk so she could look directly at Snape when he arrived.  
          “Yes. He’s a Metamorphmagus!”  
          “A what?!!!”  
          “A Metamorphmagus!” repeated Snape sarcastically. “You know, able to change his appearance at will!”  
          “I know what it means!” replied Minerva tartly. “But that can’t be! There hasn’t been a Metamorphmagus since—”  
          “Nymphodora Tonks that you _know_ of,” finished Snape acidly.  
          “But certainly we would know something like that!” protested Minerva. Snape was wrong about the last Metamorphmagus—that had been her son Ted, but he was Harry’s godson, had been sorted into Gryffindor and would never ever do something so heinous.  
          “Tonks was a Gryffindor,” reminded Snape disdainfully. “She treated her gift like a joke, entertainment for parties. She had no appreciation of what she could do or become. Sir, however, is clearly a Slytherin,” continued Snape proudly. “He would have seen the true value and potential of such a gift and treated it with reverence. He would have told no one once he realized what he could do and then would have perfected his abilities in secret!”  
          Minerva drew in a breath biting back her instinctive words in defense of Tonks. “O.K.,” she began. “You’ve clearly seen something that has indicated to you he is Metamorphmagus. Whom does he change into?”  
          “That, unfortunately, I do not know,” replied Snape regretfully. “Sir was seated in his chair reading the _Prophet_. There was a loud buzzer sound and Sir got up to attend it. I could see him changing as he moved but Sir was gone before I could see a final form...”  
          “So we still know nothing…”  
          “Perhaps,” agreed Snape. “But now we know why no one has ever seen Sir before; it is probably a form and identity he created specifically to be Wycliff’s kidnapper. Wycliff may be the only person who has ever truly met Sir in that particular shape and persona. In addition, it explains why Wycliff knows so little about Sir. He has been keeping secrets about himself all his life. He would not change his ways for the benefit of a … _captive_ … audience.”  
          Minerva stared at Snape in disbelief. How could he make jokes about something as serious as this? And a bad joke at that!!! Then she realized Snape never joked and he probably had no idea his words contained a double meaning.  
          “If I were Sir,” continued Snape oblivious of Minerva’s expressions, “I would create several alternate identities so I could move from place to place without being noted as a newcomer. Look for someone in a profession that enables him to be absent for long periods of time without calling attention to himself, in particular, someone physically absent right before and during the time Wycliff was casting her Patronus.”  
          “I suppose that’s something…” mused Minerva thoughtfully.  
          “Also, you can cross-check the location of any potential wizards you think might be Sir against the dates Sir met with Wycliff to test her abilities… That could narrow down things more.”  
          “Perhaps,” agreed Minerva reluctantly. “I’ll pass this information on. Thank you.”  
          Snape drew himself up stiffly in his chair.  
          “Is there something else?”  
          “Yes, you need to notify Miss Wycliff about this development.”  
          “I can ask,” Minerva began, “but it’s Mr. Thomas’ investigation. He is in a better position to decide what information should be released.”  
          “This should not be left to Thomas’ discretion,” Snape informed her. “Thomas will want to keep it secret. But it can’t be kept secret from Wycliff; it’s too important.”  
          “Miss Wycliff already knows Sir travels in disguise, I hardly think knowing he is a Metamorphmagus makes any difference.”  
          “The child needs to be fully informed so she can develop countermeasures to adequately protect herself,” countered Snape, “something she has clearly not yet accomplished.”  
          “Oh?” questioned Minerva, sensitive to any criticism of her school.  
          “I heard about the meeting with Thomas,” retorted Snape. “You think that behavior is normal? She’s clearly terrified of anyone whose emotions she cannot sense!”  
          “But she told her full story to Thomas last September!” protested Minerva in disbelief.  
          “That was when Potter was by her side,” countered Snape. “Thomas practices Occlumency as does much of the wizard population, thanks to the new Occlumency rules in the Ministry. Potter can’t be there holding her hand forever. And it cannot be Thomas who discusses these things with her.”  
          “Oh?”  
          “I hardly think Miss Wycliff will find it reassuring to be told that her biggest threat is a Metamorphmagus who practices Occlumency by someone _else_ who practices Occlumency.”  
          “I practice Occlumency,” Minerva reminded Snape.  
          “Miss Wycliff is not afraid of you,” Snape told her. “Perhaps you should ask her why… I’ve got to be going,” he added suddenly and moved swiftly out of sight leaving the portrait frame empty.

**********

          Clayton Eggleton (Actually, it was John Clayton Eggleton but Clayton thought the name “John” sounded like a common Muggle name so he insisted on people calling him by his middle name instead) walked dejectedly from the Defense Against the Dark Arts practice room. He had failed the Occlumency test once again. If he didn’t pass the test by the end of the year, the Eggleton family home would pass into the hands of their cousins.  
          His great grandfather had deeded the house to the Eggletons with the stipulation that the first-born male in each generation, (i.e. the inheritor of the house) be able to practice Occlumency upon reaching maturity. Otherwise, the house would go to the nearest family relative with first-born males meeting that requirement. At the moment, that would be the Parkensons. Clayton didn’t particularly like the Parkenson branch of the family; they were mostly Slytherins. They didn’t like the Eggletons either, but they liked the idea of owning the house… They had suffered serious financial setbacks after the Battle at Hogwarts and the Eggleton house could be sold for a tidy profit.  
          The idea of the Occlumency provision was that a Secret Keeper who could practice Occlumency would be protected from mental attack and could better protect the family from outside harm. It has been Great Grandfather’s way to protect the family from dark wizards. He was dying when You Know Who made his first bid for power, before Harry Potter had become the “boy who lived.” Grandfather worried they would loose everything in the conflicts to come. The will had forced his son and grandson to learn Occlumency. During the darkest days before the Battle at Hogwarts, the family had hidden from Lord Voldemort and his followers in their unplottable house. Only the Secret Keepers ventured out to keep the family business going. They deflected all inquires and protected the family from the Death Eaters.  
          Clayton had known he had to learn Occlumency since he was a small boy but hadn’t been worried. After all, Grandfather had done it, father had done it; of course he could too. But he couldn’t. The acute need for Occlumency as a protection against Dark Wizards was over but the inheritance provision still stood. It didn’t help knowing Occlumency was an extremely difficult skill that few students mastered or that no one else in the class had passed either. What mattered was that Clayton turned 17 in May. If he didn’t pass the test before then the Parkensons would cheerfully take possession of the house and kick them out. That hadn’t been the intent of Great Grandfather’s deed but that was what would happen.  
          “Professor Lovegood?” Clayton asked pausing at her desk. “Is there anything else I can try to master Occlumency? I’ve just _got_ to learn Occlumency before the end of May!”  
          Professor Lovegood looked up from her magazine, upside down as usual, and fixed her silvery eyes on Clayton. Her blonde hair was held in place by miniature bright lime-green flytrap clips today and small mauve pitcher plants dangled from her ears. “Do you?” she asked softly. Small gnats flew around her face. Clayton found himself telling her the story of the family property and why it was so essential he pass the Occlumency test…  
          Professor Lovegood listened in silence to his story. When he finished, she blinked and then returned her attention to the magazine. “A mind filled with worry cannot achieve the peace and harmony necessary to practice Occlumency,” she said serenely as she turned a page. “You must clear your mind, let go of all emotions.”  
          That was the same sort of thing they had been told all year. “How do I do that?” Clayton persisted. There had to be something more—there just _had_ to be!  
          Professor Lovegood turned another page while Clayton waited. “The way is different for every person,” she finally answered. “It is something you must learn for yourself. Good day, Mr. Eggleton.”  
          “Yes, ma’am,” replied Clayton dispiritedly at the dismissal. It was clear the Professor could not or would not help further. “Thank you,” he added remembering his manners. He turned and headed towards the door.  
          “Mr. Eggleton?” said Professor Lovegood as Clayton was opening the door.  
          Clayton stopped and turned. “Yes?” he said hopefully.  
          “Could you return this to Miss Wycliff for me please?” Without removing her eyes from the magazine, the professor reached into a drawer of her desk and pulled out a slim green bottle. Clayton recognized it as the one Holly had received several weeks earlier from Crowley.  
          “Yes, ma’am,” he answered dully and took the bottle.  
          “Thank you.”  
          “No problem,” Clayton mumbled and left the room.  
_“It isn’t fair!”_ raged Clayton to himself as he stormed down the hall. _“Other people can do Occlumency, why can’t I?”_ He’d even heard a rumor that the auror students had passed the test! What kind of Professor was Lovegood anyway? She couldn’t be bothered to take time off from her magazines and puzzles to actually teach! He knew Professor Lovegood helped other students, but all she did for him is repeat a few useless suggestions and ask him to play errand boy!  
          “Errand boy!” Clayton fumed aloud. “To Holly, no less! Of all the useless tasks! The Professor could have handed the bottle over to Holly the next time she came to class!” _“That’s right!”_ thought Clayton suddenly. _“She could have! So why give it to me?”_ Clayton slowed. He remembered that the Professor rarely gave direct answers. She mostly spoke in riddles or gave obscure responses. Her words usually made sense in some sort of weird way, eventually. Was this one of those times?  
_“Why did the Professor have the bottle in the first place?”_ Clayton asked himself suddenly. Holly never mentioned giving it to her, but then, he hadn’t heard Holly speak to anyone lately, not that she had anything worth sharing with the rest of the group anyway. The bottle and its contents should have been dumped immediately; you couldn’t trust anything coming from Crowley’s hand any more. It made sense to guess Professor Lovegood had confiscated it. But if it was dangerous then why was the Professor _returning_ the bottle instead of disposing of it?  
          Clayton stared at the name on the bottle. “Harmony.” Underneath it came the words: to restore harmony. “Harmony,” mused Clayton. Hadn’t Professor Lovegood used that very word in her response to his plea for help? It meant nothing alone, but could it, along with the bottle, have been a suggestion he do something else? Clayton knew potions could not create Occlumency but maybe, just maybe, it could help him achieve the state of mind that would make Occlumency possible…

***********             

          Clayton Eggleton turned the page of the book in front of him. He was sitting in the Hufflepuff library waiting for Holly. He’d been waiting for her a long time, days actually.  
          First, he was waiting to return the Harmony bottle to her. But when Holly showed up at mealtime flanked by those two Gryffindors, Clayton decided it wasn’t the right time. Then he remembered how Donna had wanted to toss the potion. If he returned the bottle at a meal, Donna would want it again and everyone would want to know why he had it in the first place. Normally, that wouldn’t have bothered him, but somehow, Clayton didn’t feel like sharing his problems with the rest of the Hufflepuffs. That didn’t seem right either, but that was how he felt.  
          So Clayton set about finding the right time to return it to Holly. Unfortunately, Clayton couldn’t decide when that would be. Holly ate her meals swiftly and didn’t linger in the Hall; Clayton didn’t want to chase her down in the hallways; he wanted more privacy than that. So he waited for her in the Hufflepuff common room. That’s when Clayton discovered that Holly never hung out with the other students there. Nor did she linger in the Hufflepuff Library or the Hogwarts Library… In fact, Clayton had no idea where Holly spent her evenings and he never saw her come in at night! It was odd, especially as Clayton saw Holly in the mornings…  
          After several days of watching and waiting, Clayton finally questioned Becky; she and Holly were friends—or they were; they didn’t seem to be now, but surely Becky would know…  
          “Oh, she’s probably using the secret passage in the library,” Becky replied airily to his question.  
          “What secret passage?” asked Clayton in surprise. There’d been no passage when Professor Lovegood checked the Hufflepuff dorm a few years ago.  
          “The one that leads from the Room of Requirement to the Dorms, of course,” she answered.  
          “There’s one from the Room of Requirement to the Hufflepuff Dorms?”  
          “Well, it’s only one way,” Becky explained. “We used to use it to avoid the evening patrols after organ practice.”  
          “So Holly’s been spending her evenings practicing organ?” questioned Clayton.  
          “I don’t know,” replied Becky without concern. “Probably. Or not. You’d have to ask her…”  
          “I would, except I’m kind of having a hard time finding her,” replied Clayton.  
          “Oh?” shrugged Becky. “I expect she’s around somewhere.”  
          Becky’s answers bothered Clayton more than he cared to admit. Usually, the Hufflepuffs kept better tabs on each other, not because they had to, they just did. So he asked Prefect Donna if she knew where Holly was in the evenings. She didn’t know either; hadn’t even realized Holly wasn’t in the dorms with the rest of the Hufflepuffs...  
          So Clayton found a book and a table in the back of the library and waited. That was easy enough to do—the library was empty of other students. The quiet and emptiness felt odd as well. Usually there were all sorts of students in the library completing work, helping each other finish assignment. Clayton wondered where all the other students were… No, he knew where they were; they were in the common room _not_ studying.  
          Around 11:00pm Clayton heard a sound. Looking up from his book he saw Holly appear from behind the stacks and walk quietly across the room. The passage entrance had to be behind one of the Profession Portraits that lined the walls of the library. There were ten large paintings hung around the library each filled with Hufflepuffs at work designed to remind the students to take pride in their skills. If Clayton recalled correctly, there was a musician painting on that side depicting a chamber septet of musicians seated within a room filled with various musical instruments. Since Becky mentioned organ practice, perhaps that was the frame which guarded the passage from the Room of Requirements.  
          Clayton would have spoken out to Holly as she passed but then he saw a house elf following. A house elf?!! Why was a house elf following Holly? The two were gone before Clayton could speak.  
          Clayton spent the day considering what he had seen. He could have sworn Holly hadn’t even known he was there, but that didn’t seem right. Holly was an Empath; she could sense emotions. She always knew when there were people around. Unless…

**********

          Clayton Eggleton sat again in the library with a book in hand. This time, he had selected a table and chair at the end of the aisle from which he had seen Holly coming the previous night. He wanted to give Holly a chance to see him first before he spoke. At 11:00 the Musician’s painting and frame swung out. Sasha appeared first, then Holly. Clayton could only see her legs as the huge painting blocked his view of the rest of her body. The cat regarded Clayton solemnly with her green eyes while Holly’s legs turned and faced the passage entrance. A few seconds later Clayton saw the spindly legs and bare feet of the house elf on the library floor. Holly stepped backwards, into view and gently pushed the painting back into place. Then she turned to leave and caught sight of Clayton. Holly’s whole body seemed to freeze up except for her hand and Clayton saw her hand slip to her waist and pull out her wand. The house elf behind her vanished!  
          “Hi, Holly,” he said in a cheerful, friendly voice while ignoring the wand now pointing at him and the terrified look on Holly’s face. “What’s new?”  
          Holly didn’t speak; didn’t move; so Clayton continued. “I passed my Occlumency test today,” he told her. “I thought I’d let you know seeing as how you’re not supposed to be able to sense the emotions of people who do Occlumency…” Clayton trailed off giving Holly a chance to speak but she didn’t so he continued, “I didn’t want you to get all surprised later if you saw me walking about without, you know, emotions…” He reached out and picked up Sasha who had come forward and circled affectionately at his feet.  
          “Is that really you?” Holly whispered lowering her wand a fraction.  
          “Yeah, it’s really me,” assured Clayton while stroking Sasha. She purred loudly in response. “Ask me anything.”  
          “Why are you here?” she questioned lowering her wand a bit more.  
          “To tell you about the Occlumency,” answered Clayton. Holly didn’t reply but raised her wand again. “I, uh, also wanted to return this to you,” added Clayton pulling out the bottle of Harmony from beneath his robes. “How did you know?” he asked holding out the bottle.  
          “Know?”  
          “Know I had more to say? Can you sense my emotions?” he asked worriedly. “Did I screw up my Occlumency already?”  
          “No.” Holly put her wand away and stepped forward stopping a meter away from Clayton.  
          “Then how did you know?”  
          “Body language,” she answered briefly.  
          “Body language?”  
          “Yeah, your Occlumency is great but your body language is like an open book!” Holly reached into her bag, pulled out a thick book and handed it to Clayton. It was titled: _Body Language: know what they’re saying before they say it_. “It’s a gift from the auror students,” she told him. “If I can’t sense Sir coming,” Holly explained, “I’ve got to identify him some other way! Of course,” she added thoughtfully, “none of this seems to apply to what I remember about Sir but maybe I can use it to eliminate who he isn’t—like you!”  
          “Sounds like a plan,” laughed Clayton as he returned the book. “I’ve got to apologize,” Clayton added.  
          “Oh?”  
          “Yeah. See, I’ve had this bottle for a while and I should have returned it to you sooner…” Clayton looked guiltily down at the bottle still in his hand.  
          “Oh?”  
          “Yeah. Professor Lovegood asked me to give to you and, um, I’m afraid I, uh, took some without asking…” Clayton admitted. He could feel his face flush with shame. He knew he should have asked first, but it hadn’t seemed necessary at the time.  
          “That’s O.K.,” Holly told him. “As long as you think it helped…”  
          “Yeah,” replied Clayton thoughtfully. “I think it did…” He’d taken it because of the Occlumency but hadn’t really thought about it afterwards. He had passed his test so it must have helped somehow…  
          “Here,” he told her holding out the bottle.  
          “Thanks,” she said while taking the bottle. “Um, it’s late,” Holly reminded Clayton. “I’d best get going. Good night.” She slipped the bottle into her bag, slid by Clayton and headed for the exit.  
          “Good-night,” Clayton answered absently, still lost in thought. “Uh, Holly?” Clayton called out suddenly as Holly was about to turn the corner.  
          She stopped and turned around. “Yes?”  
          “Something’s _off_ with the Hufflepuffs!” Clayton said quickly before he lost his resolution. It was something he’d been thinking about lately, but not yet managed put into words.  
          “Huh?”  
          “The Hufflepuffs,” explained Clayton. “Something’s not quite right with them.”  
          “What do you mean?”  
          “They don’t,” Clayton fumbled for the right words, “don’t _care_ any more.” He waited for Holly’s response, a denial that he was crazy, but Holly didn’t say anything. She just looked at him with those wide green eyes.  
          “You _know!”_ Clayton suddenly accused. “You knew something was off and you didn’t say anything! Why didn’t you say something?”  
          Holly didn’t answer; she just stared.  
          “You did!” Clayton answered for himself. “Lots of times, we just weren’t listening… Well I’m listening now. How long has it been this way?” he demanded.  
          “Um, since I came back?” answered Holly in a tiny voice.  
_“Months!”_ thought Clayton, appalled.  
          “I thought it was, maybe, me?” Holly continued uncertainly.  
          “It’s not you,” Clayton assured. “Do you know what’s going on?”  
          “No,” she whispered. “Don’t know why you’ve noticed, either…”  
          Why _had_ he noticed? If it had been going on for months, why was he thinking of such things now? What was different? Occlumency! That was different. And that was because… “Harmony!” exclaimed Clayton suddenly.  
          “What?”  
_“That’s what was different!”_ Clayton thought excitedly. “Harmony!” he repeated. “Do you think you can get Crowley to make some more?” There wasn’t much left in the bottle he had returned.  
          “More?”  
          “Yeah, enough for all the Hufflepuffs!”  
          “All?” she questioned hesitantly.  
          “Yeah, all.”  
          “Maybe. But they won’t take it!”  
          “Leave that to me,” Clayton assured her. “Get me the potion, I’ll take care of the rest.”  
         “O.K.” she answered meekly.  
         “Don’t worry, Holly,” Clayton added while swiftly stepping forward and giving her a warm hug before she could back away. “It’s going to be all right!”


	30. Chapter 30

           “Just the person I was hoping to run into,” said Wizard Thomas cordially. “Have you a few minutes?”  
          “Certainly,” agreed Wizard Daniel Pilkington in a genial voice. Even if he didn’t have time, he would have made time; one didn’t say “no” lightly to the head of Magical Law Enforcement. “This way,” he suggested, as his office was close by. While they walked, Daniel pondered the reason for the “minutes.” He and Wizard Thomas rarely travelled in the same circles so it was no “accidental” meeting. They weren’t social friends; business of some sort? He would learn soon enough. Drawing his wand, Daniel unlocked the office door, opened it and stepped inside. Wizard Thomas followed closing the door behind him. “Have a seat,” Daniel offered while pulling out the chair behind the desk and sitting down. Wizard Thomas sat as well.  
          “Some Sorbi?” Daniel offered pulling out a drawer well stocked with Sorbi.  
          Wizard Thomas frowned slightly at the suggestion. “Ah, not today,” he told Daniel, “but go ahead, if you like… This won’t take long.” Definitely business. Daniel regretfully pushed the drawer back in; it would not be polite to drink in front of Wizard Thomas. “What can I do for you?” he asked.  
          “Nothing much,” replied Wizard Thomas in a casual sounding voice. “I just wanted to thank you for that tip you gave us last December.”  
          Daniel felt his body stiffen alertly at his words. “Tip?” he questioned cautiously knowing full well he had only passed one “tip” to Wizard Thomas.  
          “Yes, you know, the one after your ball,” answered Wizard Thomas informatively. “It didn’t amount to anything, of course,” he added casually, “but you never know unless you take the time to check things out first…”  
          “That’s true,” agreed Daniel in an equally casual voice. Wizard Thomas hadn’t sounded nearly so casual when he had returned for more information, particularly wanting the source of his tip. That meant there _had_ been a problem but Thomas must have since found a resolution and wanted no publicity about it. If true, that didn’t help Daniel any unless he gave out more information than _he_ wished. That would involve letting Thomas know Daniel knew or suspected more than he had let on when Thomas had made initial inquiries about the tip and that there was a more personal involvement in the situation than Daniel had let on before. Was there another way to learn more?  
          “That’s it,” announced Wizard Thomas standing up. Daniel stood up as well. “I just wanted to let you know if you have any other tips no matter how unimportant they seem, don’t hesitate to pass them on…” He pushed the chair back, took a step and reached out for the doorknob.  
          “Of course,” replied Daniel automatically while he tried to think of a way to stall Thomas so he could frame his own questions.  
          “Oh, yes,” added Wizard Thomas while hesitating before the door. “I’ve a little something for you.”  
          “Oh?’ questioned Daniel as Wizard Thomas reached into a pocket and pulled something out.  
          “Here,” he said handing Daniel a small bottle.  
          “What’s this?” asked Daniel as he studied the bottle. It was a small brown potions bottle suitable for holding one dose of something. They were easily obtained at any potions shop and were often filled with free samples of new potions.  
          “A souvenir,” answered Thomas. “Something I picked up while conducting the investigation on that tip of yours. I had an idea you might like it.”  
          “That was thoughtful,” answered Daniel warily. _“Since when did Magical Law Enforcement officials pass out souvenirs?”_ “What is it?” he asked aloud.  
          “Just a little something,” replied Thomas vaguely in a casual sounding voice. “Totally harmless.”  
          “Thanks,” replied Daniel and he put the bottle in his pocket. Was this the purpose of the meeting? He’d have to study it further.  
          “Uh.”  
          Daniel looked at Thomas. “Yes?”  
          “I need the bottle back…”  
          Daniel looked at Thomas with surprise. “Now?” he questioned. It was a cheap bottle that could be easily replaced. Why would Thomas need it back?  
          “Yeah,” agreed Thomas and his eyes seemed to bore right though Daniel as if trying to convey a message made of more than words. “The potion’s yours, but not the bottle.”  
          That meant Thomas wanted Daniel to take the potion _now_ , in front of him! Keeping the bottle insured there would be no evidence of what happened or of the potion taken. Daniel looked at Thomas. “You know it’s never a good idea to take unlabeled potions?”  
          “Yep,” agreed Thomas readily, “but I can assure you that you won’t regret it.” His eyes never left Daniel’s.  
          Daniel thought briefly. Thomas was a Gryffindor; he had a reputation for honesty and had served as Head of Magical Law Enforcement for many years. He was no fool and would not make random suggestions without good reason. Thomas had connected the potion to the tip; that made for an interesting combination. “I won’t regret it?” Daniel asked again studying Thomas’ face seeking any sign of deceit.  
          “No,” he replied steadily. Daniel prided himself in being able to read the faces of others. There was no hesitancy, no change in expression. Thomas was very serious.  
          Daniel took the bottle with one hand and used the other to pry off the cork. In a single motion, he lifted the bottle to his lips and drank the potion. The potion went down easily. It was cool with a sort of lemon mint flavour. Lemon mint flavour? _Yellow_ lemons; _green_ mint? Slytheryn colours?  
          Daniel’s eyes flew open wide _“NO!”_ he thought with disbelief. _“It couldn’t be!!!”_ But it fit—the urgency Thomas had displayed when asking about the initial tip, the urgency in wanting Crowley’s cooperation; it was the same! The first was definitely about Occlumency; might the second be as well? Potions had nothing to do with Occlumency, but an Occlumency crisis within the Ministry would certainly be kept secret, very secret. Did they connect? How? Did Crowley flavour her potions? It might be very interesting to ask and hear her response.  
          “The bottle?” said Thomas.  
          “Bottle?” questioned Daniel absently still lost in thought.  
          “Yeah, the bottle,” repeated Thomas firmly while holding out his hand.  
          “Oh, yes, yes, of course,” replied Daniel dropping the bottle in the outstretched hand.  
          “Thanks,” said Thomas as his fingers curled around the bottle. “Give it a week,” he added as he pocketed the empty bottle.  
          “A week?” echoed Daniel thoughtfully while studying Thomas’ face. Thomas’ face was still very serious but it had also relaxed and reflected, what, relief?  
          “Yeah, a week and you won’t regret it. Gotta go,” Thomas added, his voice changing entirely to a cheerful, impersonal business-like tone. “Have a good day.” With that he stepped out of the office and moved swiftly out of sight.

**********

          “That’s it for announcements,” said Prefect Donna MacMillan. “Is there anything else?” It was Friday night and everyone was gathered in the common room for the weekly Hufflepuff meeting. Some of the Hufflepuffs wanted to dispense with the weekly meeting altogether because, well, nothing much happened at them anyway, but Donna insisted they continue. If they didn’t, she wouldn’t have much to do as a prefect… But that didn’t mean the meetings had to be long boring affairs; Donna prided herself on keeping them short and simple.  
          “I have something.”  
          Donna looked at the speaker in surprise. It had been a rhetorical question; no one was supposed to actually answer. “Uh, yes?” she questioned. The speaker was Clayton. He usually had an art pad in hand while at the meetings but not this time.  
          “I have a list from Professor Iverson,” he began, “of all the Hufflepuffs in danger of not passing one or more of their classes.” He unfolded and held out a rather wrinkly piece of paper. Donna frowned. It looked a lot like the list she had received from Professor Iverson and had crumpled and tossed. How had he gotten it?  
          “That was mentioned ages ago,” she told him reprovingly. It was old news now, not even worth an announcement.  
          “Yeah, but what have we _done_ about it?” countered Clayton.  
          “What do you mean?” she said defensively. “We already went over it! What else is there?”  
          “I remember,” Clayton replied. “You told everyone to get with their tutors and work harder. But did anyone do that?” Everyone looked at each other uncomfortably without speaking. “Has anyone’s scores improved?” Clayton questioned looking around the group. No one answered. “We need to do more than talk,” he told them. “We need to succeed!”  
          “But it’s too hard!” protested Heather Lusk, a first year. “It’s not like we’re Ravenclaws!” A chorus of “yeahs” followed from other first years.  
          “And it’s not like you’ve been trying either!” scolded Clayton. “But I’m not just blaming you, what happened to your help?”  
          “They’re too busy,” answered Norman Watts, another first year.  
          “It’s not like you’ve bothered to ask,” growled Alex Buchanan, a seventh year. “I have my own work to do,” he continued, “why should I bother when you’re not interested?”  
          “And it sounds like neither of you put too much effort in getting together,” interrupted Clayton.  
          “Like I have the time to pin down my tutee when I’ve my own scores to worry about,” retorted Lynette.  
          “You should,” said Clayton. “We’ve always managed to find the time before… Remember how it was last year?” he continued. “The Hufflepuff library was always full of students studying and there were more in the common room working on papers and projects. And if somebody was too busy, someone else always filled in and helped out! What’s more, everybody _passed!_ When is the last time any of us have used the library for research?” The students looked about guiltily at each other but nobody answered. “There’s something wrong here,” continued Clayton. “Seriously wrong. Classes always came first. We always had time for each other. And now… Work hard, do our best and if we help each other _we can do anything,”_ Clayton said softly. They were the words Donna closed every meeting with. “We say that every week,” Clayton reminded them. “But we haven’t been working hard, we haven’t been doing our best, we haven’t been helping each other and we haven’t … done … anything!”   He fell silent.  
_“Clayton was right,”_ thought Donna with surprise and guilt. She was Prefect!! Why hadn’t she noticed?  
          “We’ve lost our focus,” Clayton concluded. “We need to find it again.”  
          “How?” asked Janet Turner, a second year.  
          “I propose we all do something together, like we used to,” suggested Clayton. It was clear he already had an idea in mind.  
          “Sabois?” voiced Aaron McAllister, another first. “We do that together…”  
          “Not all of us,” reminded Clayton. All eyes turned suddenly to Holly. They all knew who didn’t drink Sabios. Holly sat on the floor in the far corner of the room away from the other students. Holly looked distinctly uncomfortable at the sudden attention. She drew her knees up to her chest and clutched her legs tightly. She buried her face in her lap and braided hair swung down covering her face. Sasha crouched protectively in front of her.  
          “Well she should,” decided Ivy Nesbitt aloud (second year,) “and then we could all drink it together!” Several other students chimed in loudly in agreement; most everyone did, actually.  
          “True,” agreed Clayton when the room grew quiet again, “but that’s not the kind of activity we need. We drink Sabois all the time while we’re _not_ working or helping each other. But since you’ve brought up Holly, since when do we disparage and belittle the likes or dislikes of others?”  
          “We don’t do that!” chorused several students defensively. Donna nodded in agreement. Clayton just didn’t understand for some reason…  
          “We don’t ostracize them either!” continued Clayton ignoring the protests.  
          “Ostracize! We don’t do that!” Donna protested but then she remembered the time Clayton had asked Holly’s whereabouts and she hadn’t known, hadn’t cared… Donna looked again at Holly; her head was still buried and her face hidden. Suddenly Holly looked very alone in that corner. _“Do we??”_ Donna questioned herself uncertainly.  
          “That’s not the Hufflepuff way,” Clayton reminded sternly. “The Hufflepuff house welcomes all and treats all alike—or should,” he scolded. Everyone looked guiltily at each other (but not at Holly) and then down at the floor. “I never see Holly around or studying yet her name is one of the few _not_ on that list in danger of failing. Anyone know why?”  
          “Well, she hangs out with Potter and Fitzgerald a lot,” piped up Becky. “Maybe they’re helping her.”  
          “Yeah,” agreed several of the other fourth years.  
          “There’s nothing wrong with that,” acknowledged Clayton, “Holly and Albus are cousins, but since when does a Hufflepuff turn to a _Gryffindor_ for help with her schoolwork?”  
_“That’s true!”_ thought Donna with shock. Gryffindors were always too busy trying to be noticed, trying to be heroes, to take any serious interest in schoolwork! Were they doing more classwork than the Hufflepuffs? True, their scores were not always the highest, but Hufflepuffs always passed their classes. Donna could not remember a time when a Hufflepuff actually failed. She also couldn’t remember a time when Professor Iverson found it necessary to send them notices of possible failure… Something _was_ wrong here, seriously wrong.  
          “We’re not together any more,” Clayton observed, “not in agreement.” He pulled out a huge dark green bottle and set it on the coffee table in the middle of the group. The name _Harmony_ was plainly written on the surface. “I suggest we _all_ take a dose of Harmony and then figure out what we can do to salvage our scores.”  
          “Harmony!” protested Lynette. “But that’s by Crowley and it’s no good!” Donna nodded in agreement.  
          “I took some,” informed Clayton to Donna’s surprise. “Not sure if it did anything, but I’m not dead for doing it. I looked up the word Harmony,” Clayton added. “It means: agreement, accord, harmonious relations. We don’t work together any more. We don’t treat each other with respect. We’re not behaving as Hufflepuffs should; I think we could all use some Harmony.” He looked around at the silent group. “At the very least,” he added in a more apologetic voice, “it is something we can do together, _all_ of us.” He looked accusingly around the room.  
          Donna took a deep breath. She looked over at Eddie, the other prefect. He met her glance and nodded. “Any opposed?” she questioned quietly. That was the way to encourage group consent. Few wanted to be the first to speak up.  
          There was definitely something wrong with the Hufflepuffs; Donna had no idea whether Harmony was the solution they sought, but she knew solidarity and trust were Hufflepuff qualities, qualities they were currently lacking. Taking Harmony could help restore both. She trusted Clayton. He’d tutored her upon occasion and if he said he’d taken the stuff without problems, that was good enough for her; she would support his suggestion.  
          Hearing no opposition Donna said, “Then let’s do this!”

**********

          Holly Wycliff sat in the corner with her head hidden behind her knees trying to make herself as small as possible. It had happened; they were taking the potion! Holly didn’t watch as the Hufflepuffs stepped forward one after another to take the potion. She was certain someone would notice her, would shout out that this was all her doing and use that reason as an excuse to stop taking the potion. But would it do any good if they took it? Holly had no idea. Like Clayton, she only knew things weren’t right the way they were.  
          After what seemed like an eternity, the common room emptied. Holly sensed Prefect Donna coming close. She stopped in front of Holly.  
          “That’s everyone,” she said quietly.  
          “Everyone except you,” came a second voice. Holly felt her body tense with surprise. Clayton was standing right over her! She wasn’t used to Clayton with Occlumency. Sasha’s warm purr reassured Holly it was Clayton, not Sir in disguise, in front of her, but people without emotions made Holly extremely nervous.  
          “Me?” questioned Holly looking up at the two. “Oh, no! I’m not, uh, I don’t need it!”  
          “When we do something as a group that means everyone,” replied Donna.  
          “Everyone!” repeated Clayton firmly. He held the harmony bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other. “I just took some and now it’s your turn.” He poured out the potion filling the spoon and emptying the bottle. “Just enough,” he told her with satisfaction. “Here!” he said. Clayton knelt down to eye level and held the filled spoon to Holly’s lips. Holly suddenly had a flash of Sir kneeling with a filled spoon in his hand moving to her lips! “No!” she exclaimed in panic! She instinctively knocked the spoon out of his hand as she scrambled backwards flattening herself against the wall! “I can’t!”  
          Clayton stood up. “We’re not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, Holly,” he said softly and backed away until he stood next to Donna. Clayton had this sorrowful look on his face.  
          “First the Sabois and now this,” said Donna quietly. Holly could feel a sense of relief from Donna as she spoke. “We weren’t ostracizing her,” she told Clayton. “It’s what she wanted all along. It would have been easier if you had just said “no” in the first place, Holly,” Donna chided while looking sternly at Holly. “Of course, by spilling the potion, you’ve got an excuse to not take it and can’t change your mind…” Holly felt her face flame with embarrassment.  
          “I can’t think that’s really it,” argued Clayton softly. “I was so sure…”  
          Holly wanted to agree, to explain, but couldn’t. She hadn’t told any of the Hufflepuffs of her desperation, her hours with Pettigrew and the moment that brought her back. Those memories were locked tight inside her and Holly couldn’t bring herself to mention them now.  
          “At least you tried,” said Donna reassuringly to Clayton. “Being Hufflepuff means _not_ being part of the group if that’s what you want. Come on, Clayton, let’s go find our tutees.”   She and Clayton walked off leaving Holly alone in the corner.  
          Holly watched the two leave without moving. _“Was Donna right?”_ Holly worried. _“Do I really want to be alone and have been using Sabois as an excuse?”_ Certainly Holly felt safer alone, or rather, when she was _certain_ she was alone. _“No, that isn’t right,”_ Holly corrected herself. _“I don’t mind being with people, as long as they come with emotions, and there aren’t too many of them…”_  
          Holly turned her head and looked at the potions spoon lying on the floor. Clayton seemed so disappointed when she refused. Was taking it really that important? At the time, Holly had been too busy trying to deal with all the emotions of the group to really focus on what Clayton was telling them. She thought Clayton used the line of doing things “together” just to get the other students to agree, but had it been more than an excuse? Holly hadn’t meant to hurt Clayton’s feelings or refuse to be part of the group but unfortunately, as Donna said, the spilled potion prevented her from taking it—or did it? She could always contact Paige for more potion but somehow Holly suspected taking it on a different day would not be the same. Holly stared thoughtfully at the fallen spoon. There might be another way…

***********

          Clayton Eggleton sat in the library turning the pages of a book. He needed to study but was having a hard time trying to focus. The evening had not turned out as he intended.  
          Holly walked quietly in. She stopped in front of Clayton; her cat leaped lightly onto the table and planted herself in the middle of the book in a bid for attention. Clayton lifted Sasha off his book and absently stroked her while he looked at Holly. Her face was streaked with tears.  
          “Did you know that Paige invented a spoon that would not spill its contents?” she asked softly.  
          “No.”  
          “I wasn’t too happy about it when I learned,” Holly added, “but it does have its uses.” She shyly held out the spoon from the Harmony bottle, an _empty_ spoon. It wouldn’t have meant anything if Holly hadn’t mentioned Crowley’s invention. “I’m not too crazy about mint,” Holly added softly, further proof she had taken the potion, “but the lemon part was O.K.”  
          “Yeah,” agreed Clayton. “Not too bad, but none of the punch of Sabois.” Strangely, Sabois didn’t have much of a “punch” the last time he’d had some. Clayton took the spoon from Holly and tapped it gently against the top of the Harmony bottle that sat on the table next to him. It immediately transfigured back into a stopper, which he used to close the empty bottle.  
          “I didn’t mean to push you away,” Holly added apologetically, “but you’re too much like S-Sir when you practice Occlumency.”  
          “But I’m nothing like Sir!” protested Clayton remembering the picture of Sir that had been circulated in the _Prophet_.  
          “No one is like Sir,” whispered Holly. “He’s disguised.” That’s what the _Prophet_ had said too, but Clayton couldn’t imagine someone being so disguised that he couldn’t be recognized. And how could she ever mistake him for Sir? _“Polyjuice!”_ thought Clayton suddenly. “But surely you know that Polyjuice only works for an hour!” he reminded Holly. “I’ve been around for longer than that and I haven’t morphed…”  
           “It doesn’t matter,” whispered Holly. She dipped her head down hiding her face. “A part of me is certain anyone who practices Occlumency could be Sir,” she told him. “’Cept maybe Paige,” Holly added thoughtfully. “I don’t think Sir would morph into Paige, but Paige could always be Umbridge in disguise…”  
          “Umbridge’s in prison,” said Clayton automatically.  
          Holly looked at him a bit funny and then said, “I still worry.” The cat moved from Clayton to Holly. She looked down at the cat, smiled, and picked her up. “Sasha helps,” Holly added softly while holding the cat close and stroking her affectionately. “She reassures me by telling me who she likes. I figure she recognizes people through scent not emotions so she’d know if someone didn’t belong no matter what that person looked like…”  
          “That stinks,” sympathized Clayton. “It must be hard on you going around Hogwarts with all the students practicing Occlumency.”  
          “Um, not really,” answered Holly. “Not that way. There’s just you and, um, the auror students…”  
          “Seriously?” asked Clayton surprised.  
          “Seriously.”  
          “Have you told Professor Lovegood?”  
          “No. Why?”  
          “Because, it’s kind of unusual don’t you think?”  
          “Is it?” Holly looked genuinely confused.  
          “Yeah, kind of,” replied Clayton. “Remember all the students you identified last year doing Occlumency?” He knew Holly had tried to emotionally check the student population for someone who might have set up Albus. She had narrowed it down to possibly those students practicing Occlumency as Holly couldn’t tell whether they were hiding something or not.  
          Holly nodded. “So?”  
          “So Occlumency is a popular class with lots of students taking it. Not everyone passes the Occlumency test, of course, but I would guess there’d be about the same number of students practicing Occlumency this year as there were last year.”  
          “Oh. I never thought of that,” she admitted thoughtfully.  
          “It’s not like you can turn Occlumency on and off,” Clayton informed her.  
          “You can’t?” she asked with this wide-eyed look.  
          “No, you can’t,” Clayton assured her. “Didn’t you read that Occlumency book Professor Lovegood lent you?” Clayton knew Holly had been trying to learn Occlumency on her own since second year…  
          “Maybe?” she answered hesitantly. “Some of it… It was hard to read…” Holly confessed.  
          “That’s what comes from not taking the class!” Clayton muttered disgustedly. “Mental attacks don’t always come at night,” he informed her. “People who do Occlumency are supposed to do it all the time, night and day! It doesn’t stop with passing the test; you have to keep it up _always_ and if they’re not, well, that’s seriously weird which is why you should tell Professor Lovegood! Weird is her department.”  
          Holly gulped. “I didn’t know,” she whispered worriedly. “I thought,” she hesitated. “I don’t know what I thought,” she concluded lamely. “I’ll tell Professor Lovegood about the Occlumency thing tomorrow, or, rather, the lack of it,” she assured him.  
          “Good idea,” approved Clayton. “It may be nothing, but better safe than sorry, I say.”  
          “Yes,” agreed Holly softly. “Better safe than sorry.”  
          “I’m sorry,” said Clayton suddenly. “It just occurred to me that if all the people who should be practicing Occlumency were actually doing Occlumency then it would be worse for you! You know, more people to be scared of.”  
          “That’s O.K.,” replied Holly calmly. “It’ll be more people to practice on.”  
          “Practice on?”  
          “Yes. The auror students think I rely too much on my sense of emotions and I’m not picking up on other cues that might be out there. They assure me there are lots of people out there practicing Occlumency and they can’t all be Sir so I’ve got to learn to tell them apart.”  
          “Oh, said Clayton thoughtfully. “They’re right,” he agreed.  
          “Yes. But you’re wrong,” she added.  
          “Huh?”  
          “About not being able to turning it on and off.”  
          “No, I’m not,” assured Clayton. He’d been looking into it ever since he realized Holly was stressed out when she couldn’t sense him.  
          “Umbridge can do it,” she told him. “And um, some of the other students.”  
          “Really?” said Clayton in disbelief. “That’s not what the books say.”  
          “Books don’t say everything,” replied Holly solemnly. “Cousin Harry warned me about Umbridge last year but I never considered her the source of the problems at school, because, well, I’d met Umbridge and could sense her emotions. If it were she at school, I should have been able to sense her presence, but I never did. I was completely fooled.”  
          “Well, if it’s truly possible, I wish someone would show me how; I don’t like scaring you all the time,” retorted Clayton.    
          “You don’t scare me,” informed Holly. She buried her face in Sasha’s fur and then looked up. “Not now,” she amended.  
          “That’s something.”  
          “Yes, it is,” Holly agreed thoughtfully. “It’s kind of nice not feeling afraid,” she added with a smile. Holly readjusted Sasha’s position within her arms and continued to rub her ears affectionately. Sasha responded by purring loudly with obvious contentment. “I’m feeling rather tired,” Holly told Clayton. “I think I’ll go to bed, now.”  
          “No organ tonight?”  
          “No,” she replied softly with a kind of surprised look on her face. “I don’t think I need it, not tonight. Thank you.”  
          “Thank you?”  
          “Yes, for suggesting the potion…”  
          “Oh. No problem.”  
          “Good night, Clayton.”  
          “Good night.”

 **********

          Holly sat at the end of the Hufflepuff table eating dinner of rice, naan, curried vegetables with coconut and a glass of mango lassi—at least that’s what she thought she was eating; that’s what it looked like... When the Indian curries first appeared at her end of the table two years earlier, Holly had gotten Mark to help her identify the possible names of the food she ate by colour and ingredients. They had never been absolutely positive of the names they came up with and didn’t know how to ask the house elves to be sure.  
          Professor Lovegood hadn’t been on campus Saturday when Holly looked for her but she was available on Sunday. She had indeed been interested when Holly reported the absence of students practicing Occlumency; at least she seemed interested. It was always hard to tell with Professor Lovegood.  
          Holly had found the Professor in her office, reading, as usual. She looked briefly up from the book she was reading, _Honey Bee Biology and Beekeeping_ , (the title was easy to read even though it _was_ upside down) and peered at Holly through bright yellow and black striped pointy glasses studded with orange rhinestones while she talked. Small slotted honey spoons dangled from her ears. Holly gave her report quickly and left as soon as possible pausing only to reassure the Professor that _her_ (the professor’s) whispery emotions hadn’t changed any… Holly hadn’t lingered in the office because she was seriously disconcerted by the bees! Professor Lovegood’s silvery hair had been put up in a fifty’s style beehive hairdo and was covered with bright flowers. Several bees buzzed in and about the professor’s head.  
          Holly was positive the Professor had taken her seriously the next day when she noticed several of the older students pass by at mealtimes with worried expressions and emotions to match. Some of those students had practiced Occlumency the previous year. According to Clayton, they should have _still_ been practicing Occlumency but they weren’t. Holly wondered what was going on…  
          She also sent an owl to Roland informing him that Clayton wanted to learn how to “turn off” the Occlumency. Holly couldn’t really talk about Roland or what he could do as he was an auror and all, but she was certain Roland would find a way to help out Clayton…  
          A tight bear hug interrupted Holly’s thoughts. “What?” she questioned twisting around to face the person hugging her.  
          “I’m sorry,” whispered Becky in Holly’s ear and she squeezed Holly even tighter even though it hurt Becky to do so. Becky had physically recovered from the explosion for the most part; some actions still hurt.  
          “For what?” questioned Holly, genuinely confused.  
          “For whatever I did,” answered Becky simply. “Somehow I’ve lost my best friend and I don’t even know when or why.”  
          “You haven’t lost me,” assured Holly while returning the hug. “We just needed some time apart.” Holly had no idea if that was true but it sounded good. Becky was truly sincere in her remorse. Holly had felt so alone all year that she was not about to refuse Becky’s offer to renew their friendship.  
          “Are you going to be practicing the organ tonight?” questioned Mark. He had come up to stand besides Becky. Though outwardly he appeared healed, Holly knew Mark still hurt too, upon occasion.  
          “I suppose so,” answered Holly. “Why?”  
          “Because I was wondering if I could come along,” he answered. “I’ve a make-up test in potions to study for,” he added explaining, “and it occurs to me that I was always able to concentrate better with the organ music as background…”  
          “Um, sure, you’re always welcome,” replied Holly.  
          “Me too?” questioned Becky worriedly. “I’ve been wondering why my scores were higher last year and then I remembered how much time I spent studying in the organ room and um, other places…”  
          “Of course you can come,” assured Holly warmly.  
          “But before you do that are you free for a bit of tutoring?” questioned Lynette from further down the table.  
          “Huh? I thought you had somebody else as tutor..."  
          “She does,” chimed in Susan as she gently slid her tarantula into its cage, “but I promised to clean out Ferdinand’s cave for extra credit.”  
          Ferdinand was Professor Hagrid’s latest “pet.” It was an attaxe. An attaxe was some sort of spirit creature that lived in caves and usually appeared as a young red bull. (It left messes in the cave like a bull too!) Hagrid let Ferdinand loose at night so he could roam the Hogwarts grounds and woods looking for strangers. No one knew what Ferdinand would do if he actually found a stranger but whenever he found a student foolish enough to be outside at night he enthusiastically chased that person back into the castle. Holly had heard that Headmistress McGonagall had actually approved of Ferdinand as an additional security measure probably because of Umbridge’s activities last year.  
          “I told Lynette the soonest I would be able to help her with her work was Wednesday,” continued Susan, “and if she wanted to start sooner I suggested she ask you for help since you appear to be all caught up. I hope you don’t mind.”  
          “Mind? Um no, I don’t mind,” replied Holly as she rapidly mentally rearranged her evening plans to accommodate Lynette. “After dinner?” she asked Lynette.  
          “Perfect!” replied Lynette enthusiastically. “I don’t know how I got so behind…” she added as she sprang out of her chair and squished past Mark. “Thank you!” she said giving Holly her own hug.  
          “No problem,” replied Holly returning the hug. As she did so, she was suddenly aware of a rush of affection coming from Lynette, Mark and Becky and the other Hufflepuffs that seemed to block out all the other emotions in the hall… _“Block out!”_ Holly closed her eyes in wonder and disbelief!  
          “What? What is it?’ questioned Becky worriedly. “Are you all right?”  
          “All right?” echoed Holly. She opened her eyes and looked at Becky. Becky’s face was filled with concern and had emotions to match. “Yes, I’m fine!” Holly answered. “I’m more than fine,” she added realizing that she could _block_ again! _Truly_ block! Holly could feel the tears of relief stream down her face. “I’ll tell you about it later,” she added not wanting to try to explain things. At the moment she just wanted to close her eyes and bask in the comforting sensations of muffled emotions.

**********

          That night Holly dreamed. It wasn’t the usual drab gray but an explosion of colours, red, green, blue, yellow… And there were people! Mum and dad mostly, and Vernon! But there was also Cousin Harry, and Ginny, and Roland and Ravendra, and Becky and Mark and all the people in Diagon Ally cheering her on! Holly’s pillow was soaked with tears when she woke but they were tears of joy!


	31. Chapter 31

          Paige Brenna Crowley looked at the clock. Not yet closing time but close enough. It was a late Saturday afternoon and no customers were in the store so she decided to begin cleaning up.  
          Tom had no difficulties becoming the delivery “boy” in charge of all case deliveries of Sabois and Sorbitium but he had raged when Paige informed him that Wizard Ercwlff had assigned her the position of Sales Clerk at his Hogsmeade shop. “How can he expect you to work as a _clerk_ , let alone in a Hogsmeade’s store where you’ll have to _wait_ on former classmates?” Tom demanded indignantly. “And on _weekends_ too!” Paige had soothed Tom by suggesting it was a test by Ercwlff to see how committed they were to working for him. And as the only person working in Hogsmeade, she was totally “in charge,” which was more than a “mere” sales clerk. That made him feel better about the whole situation.  
          Paige reached under the counter and pulled out a broom. The store in Hogsmeade was barely a hole in the wall lit by four sandalwood torches so cleaning was fairly easy. It would have been easier if she used cleaning spells but Wizard Ercwlff was very particular. He insisted that no magic of any kind be permitted in his store.  
          Tom considered manual cleaning demeaning. He was certain Ercwlff would understand and think a bit of minor magic no big deal if Paige utilized a cleaning spell or two despite his rules, but Paige thought otherwise. Paige agreed that manual cleaning was beneath them, which was why she was fairly certain the rule had been imposed as yet another test—to see how far _Paige_ would go to help further Tom’s ambitions. Paige hadn’t seen any evidence of spell usage monitors and Wizard Ercwlff was nowhere around so it was tempting to use a cleaning spell. But Paige didn’t. Paige had seen steel and intelligence behind that mousy appearance and demeanor. She suspected Wizard Ercwlff had other ways to determine if she broke his rules in his absence and would use such knowledge against them. Either he would dismiss the two outright or try to blackmail Paige in some way in exchange for continued employment. Either option was unacceptable. The use of a cleaning spell was not worth the risk.  
          The shop door opened. Paige immediately returned the broom to its place under the counter; she wouldn’t clean in front of customers. She straightened and found herself looking at Wizard Ercwlff.  
          “What have you _done_?” he demanded. His blue eyes blazed out angrily.  
          “Huh?” Paige blinked in surprise. She had never before seen Ercwlff angry let alone practically spitting fire!  
          Wizard Ercwlff reached into his jacket. “This!” he spat slamming something on the counter in front of Paige with a loud “thwunk!” Paige looked down at a familiar huge dark green bottle on the counter. It was prominently labeled “Harmony.”  
          “Yours?” The anger in that single word was unbelievable!  
          “So?” Paige admitted keeping her expression and voice calm and unconcerned. What was up??? What had he learned?  
          “How _dare_ you!” he accused.  
          “How dare I what?”  
          “In—ter— _fere!”_ he hissed furiously.  
          “With what?” asked Paige coolly while keeping her face as blank as possible. Ercwlff hadn’t said a thing in the weeks following Paige’s delivery of Harmony to Thomas despite the drop in sales from Ministry personnel that had to have happened. Why now? Of course the potion she sent Thomas bore no name connecting her to it but there had been no noticeable drop in sales at Hogsmeade to generate such anger.  
          “My plans!” he answered coldly.  
          “What plans?”  
          Wizard Ercwlff’s blue eyes suddenly narrowed and he took a deep breath. “You are no potions master!” he added more calmly. “How _dare_ you jeopardize my business by practicing on the side!”  
          “A gift,” replied Paige without guilt. “Nothing more.”  
          “A gift to _Holly!_ ” Ercwlff retorted fiercely. “How could you?”  
          “How could I not?” countered Paige. “Holly is the darling of the wizard community right now,” she reminded Ercwlff. “I cannot afford to anger her or loose the business her good will might inspire!”  
          “So you decided to send a gift to your _friend?”_ questioned Ercwlff sarcastically while watching her closely.  
          “Friend? Hardly,” answered Paige disdainfully. “She’s Hufflepuff.” Which explained everything as far as Paige was concerned.  
          “So why send her anything?”  
          “She asked,” Paige answered airily. “As I said before, I thought it unwise to loose her favour.”  
          “In person?” asked Ercwlff with sudden interest.  
          “Of course! I don’t send potions out on impulse.”  
          “When?”  
          “Last December when I got back from France,” she informed him, “before I had any employment prospects with you…” Let him think she had met with Wycliff out of desperation.  
          “A consultation?”  
          “Of sorts,” admitted Paige. “Wycliff’s Mudblood so of course knows nothing about wizard law concerning potions and no doubt wouldn’t have tried to see me if she had. She was very vague and mysterious when she set up the meeting. I only agreed in the first place because I thought it could be to thank me for my part in healing her cat. By the time I realized what Wycliff really wanted I decided it would do me more harm than good to pat her hand and send her on her way. Besides, I realized I could probably do more for Wycliff than some hack off the street.”  
          “How so?” Ercwlff inquired curiously. His watery brown eyes watched her closely.  
          “She claimed to be having trouble sleeping at night,” Paige informed Ercwlff thinking quickly. It was as good a reason as any. “A simple sleeping draught off the shelf should have sufficed but I knew Wycliff has had sleeping problems in the past,” she added. That was common knowledge to anyone who had seen Wycliff during her first year. “It went on for weeks. Presumably Madam Pompey tried all the basic sleeping remedies and they clearly didn’t work. So I mixed up a simple relaxation potion, gave it a vague promising name and sent it to her.” The explanation was good, assuming Ercwlff hadn’t had the opportunity to actually _check_ the contents of the bottle. There was one other problem with the story she told…  
          “A “gift” in a bottle so large?” challenged Ercwlff in obvious disbelief.  
          “A year’s supply,” lied Paige easily. “Actually, an eight month supply,” she amended to add more realism. “Wycliff liked it so well, she wanted more—something to carry her through the summer… Amazing what the power of positive thinking can do,” Paige concluded blithely.  
          When the request for more Harmony had come with a specific number of doses, a number that just happened to match the number of Hufflepuff students currently enrolled in Hogwarts, Paige had no doubt how Wycliff intended to use the potion…  
          “This bottle is empty!” observed Ercwlff suspiciously.  
          “Is it?” asked Paige airily. She picked up the bottle and shook it experimentally: definitely empty. “Then perhaps she has no more need for it.”  
          “Perhaps,” agreed Ercwlff thoughtfully. “Or perhaps something else happened to it… I expect you to tell me if Wycliff contacts you again,” he added suddenly.  
          “Of, course,” agreed Paige smoothly though as far as she was concerned, her activities outside of work were none of his business. _“Why all the interest in Wycliff?”_  
          “On any person interested in potions,” Ercwlff added calmly. “Perhaps we can use that interest to start a new line of products.”  
          “An excellent idea,” murmured Paige. Not that she’d ever let one of _her_ creations be marketed under another person’s name.  
          “I believe Richards mentioned you submitted the paperwork for a license to become a Potions Mixer,” he added thoughtfully.  
          “Yes,” agreed Paige though she doubted Tom had said anything about it to Ercwlff. He was not one to air their business to anyone. More likely, Ercwlff had done a bit of research on his own…  
          “I know some people at the Ministry who can speed the approval process along…”  
          “Do you?” questioned Paige letting a hint of hope seep into her voice. It would have been welcomed news indeed, if approval hadn’t already occurred. Paige had received a Probationer’s Permit as a Potions Mixer a week after talking with Thomas along with the signed documentation of a Potions Master, an _auror_ Potions Master, who agreed to supervise her work for a year as required by law. It came with a note that Ministry Officials were forbidden to obtain potions from “unverified,” sources… As promised, Thomas hadn’t “paid” for the potion she later sent him, but had given her something eminently more valuable instead. Paige could legally sell potions any time she wished as long as she kept her Potions Master Supervisor informed of her work. In addition, she also had access to all the auror potion recipes and remedies not commonly known or available on the public market.  
          “And I know some Potions Masters who’d be more than happy to take you on for a year,” Ercwlff continued expansively. “That way whatever we market can be easily sold here and in Europe…”  
          “That’s very thoughtful of you,” said Paige in an appreciative voice. It was an action that would have made Paige indebted to Ercwlff, and perhaps, have bound her to his fortunes. Paige did not correct Ercwlff’s faulty assumption that she could not legally mix potions for public consumption because then he would wonder why she worked as a store clerk instead…  
          “It’s no problem at all,” purred Ercwlff. “After all, what’s good for you is good for me too. Tomorrow,” decided Ercwlff aloud. “I shall contact some people I know and on Monday we can go to the Ministry together to get it all finalized.”  
          “Thank you,” said Paige simply while trying to sound cool yet humble and appreciative at the same time. _“I shall have to send Thomas an owl tonight to see how he wishes to proceed,”_ she thought rapidly. _“Most likely he will try to bury my legal paperwork and falsify some new ones to be signed; perhaps he will set up a watch to see which people did favours for Ercwlff within the Ministry…”_ Even though she had learned nothing definitively connecting Ercwlff with Occlumency, Paige knew Thomas wanted her to stay on pointe watching…  
          “And as it is late,” continued Ercwlff smoothly, “I’d best let you get on with your duties…”  
          “Of course,” murmured Paige obediently. She bent again to get the broom. _“Blue eyes!”_ she thought suddenly. Ercwlff had blue eyes earlier when he first confronted her! _“And then they were brown!”_  
          Paige dropped to the ground and rolled under the counter as best she could while drawing her wand. She had always maintained that when something was suspicious, it was better to do the unexpected and answer questions later than remain in a position of vulnerability. As she rolled, Paige felt the energy of a spell pass over her.  
          There wasn’t much space under the counter. “What are you doing?” she called out and scrunched up to the end of the corner of the counter pushing aside her street clothes and various cleaning tools as she moved. A huge blast sounded and a portion of the counter seemed to explode and disintegrate into tiny bits—right where she had first lain! _“Protego!”_ Paige shouted knowing she couldn’t attack an unseen opponent! Just then Paige heard the front door open.  
          “Ready?” called out Tom cheerfully.  
_“NO!”_ thought Paige in sudden panic. _“He’ll get hurt!” **“Reducto!”**_ Paige shouted quickly aiming her wand at the product shelves she could see through the broken counter. The shelves exploded as the spell hit. Bottles of Sabois burst open spraying the room with liquid. Hopefully the distraction would keep Ercwlff from hurting Tom while giving Tom sufficient warning…  
_“Expelliarmus!”_ Tom shouted. Paige smiled with relief. Tom was always quick to cast spells and ask questions later. There was a loud crashing sound on the other side of the room and then silence.  
          “Paige?” Tom called out after a moment. “Are you all right?  You can come out now,” he told her. “He’s gone!” Paige remained where she was. Anyone could fake a voice. “Paige?” questioned Tom more uncertainly. “Are you here?” She heard the sound of debris being moved and then saw Tom’s familiar face poke through the hole in the counter. “Paige!” he said relief and reached out a hand to help her up.  
          Paige gripped her wand, took a deep breath and asked, “What does drinking Sorbi remind you of?” she asked taking a page from the ever-paranoid Wycliff.  
          Tom froze in place. He frowned momentarily and then smiled. “That time you and I spent in Ireland in the field outside the Inn…”  
          Paige smiled, certain Tom would not share so intimate an experience with anyone but herself. “Yes,” she said putting her wand away. “That was a wonderful time.” She put her hand in his and let Tom draw her up from the floor.  
          “Are you all right?” he asked worriedly.  
          “I’m fine,” she assured Tom.  
          “What happened?” he questioned. “I came in here and there were spells flying, glass, Sabois and this wizard just sort of vanished like smoke!”  
          Paige drew herself upright while she chose her words carefully. “I have been _assaulted!_ ” she told Tom marshaling all her adrenaline into righteous indignation. “You saw!” She wasn’t sure what he had seen but it had to be something. “You need to report this!” she added. “Go to the department of Magical Law Enforcement and speak with an official—no insist on speaking _only_ with Wizard Thomas, and tell him what happened!”  
          “The head of Magical Law Enforcement?” whispered Tom in disbelief. “They won’t let me talk to him!”  
          “Insist on it!” replied Paige firmly. “ _You_ are Slytherin; _I_ am Slytherin! We accept only the best!” Tom straightened with pride. “They are only a bunch of Gryffindors,” she reminded imperiously. “Thomas will have to do!”  
          “Yes, of course,” replied Tom with resolution.  
          “And when you are talking to Thomas tell him,” Paige stopped to put together in her mind what had happened. Blue eyes that turned brown, more than a casual interest in Wycliff, referring to her by her first name as if they were old friends, silent spells, silent Apparating… “Tell him,” she continued aloud, “I think I have met … _Sir!”_

**********

          Paige Crowley pulled her robe tightly around her body as she surveyed the damage in the store. She felt suddenly weak and tired from her earlier exertions. When Tom had learned it had been Sir who assaulted her he had wanted Paige to accompany him to the Department of Magical Law enforcement but Paige refused. “Someone needs to stay behind and secure the store, make sure nothing is destroyed or taken,” she insisted. “He won’t be foolish enough to return; I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Just come back soon!”  
          Originally, Paige had planned to set up wards and then do a thorough search of the premises, something she had been unable to do as an “employee.” After Tom had vanished, however, Paige began to have second thoughts. Wizard Ercwlff’s no-magic rule had seemed silly and inane, but what if it had been _Sir_ making the rule? Sir had caused a wall to repel and a ceiling to collapse with a single command!  
          Suddenly it seemed far wiser and safer to wait for reinforcements before exploring. Wizard Ercwlff had never acted remotely secretive or suspicious so Paige doubted there was anything of value in the store outside of the cashbox with the day’s receipts and the actual inventory of Sabois and Sorbi. It was unlikely Sir would return. But if she left and sought shelter elsewhere, Tom would worry upon his return so Paige decided to remain. Leaving the shattered counter and the Sabois/glass-strewn floor untouched, evidence of their fight, Paige stepped carefully to the entrance; she shut the door without locking it and placed up the “closed” sign. That would keep out any stray customers. Drawing out her wand, Paige pulled up a chair and sat down where she would have full view of the door. Then she watched the entrance warily and waited for Tom’s return. He had promised to be back soon, but it was Ministry bureaucracy he was plowing through; “soon” may take longer than expected.

**********

          Albus Potter walked down the main street of Hogsmeade. He was in deep conversation with Conner discussing whether or not to pay one last visit to Weasleys before returning to Hogwarts for the evening.  
          Suddenly he felt his body fly across the ground and slam into the opposite side of the street. “What?” he questioned in a daze while staring dumbly at the cobbled stones in front of him.  
          “What happened?” came Conner’s voice dimly through ringing ears. Albus looked where he had once stood. He saw debris scattered all over the street and a huge gaping hole between the shops with black smoke pouring out.  
          “No!” cried Albus struggling to his feet while remembering the last time he had seen billowing black smoke. “Hurry!” he urged while drawing his wand, “there could be survivors!” he added and headed into the smoke. _“Protego!”_ he shouted. It was a shield spell; it should protect him from smoke and falling debris.  
          It didn’t. But fortunately the smoke thinned by the time he got to the entrance and what fell was mostly plaster dust. Albus looked around inside. It looked as if the whole ceiling had fallen down! Huge rafters lay partially buried amidst splintered wood and glass. Small tongues of fire curled up everywhere getting larger as he watched. Which way?  
_“Homo Revelus!”_ shouted Conner next to him. Albus saw Conner’s hand and the wand thrust out in front. He watched anxiously. The wand slowly moved from the right to the left side of the room. Suddenly the tip of the wand turned a greenish colour. “That way!” Conner exclaimed. Heedless of the danger the two ignored the flames, scrambled over the rafters and smoking rubble heading in the direction the wand had indicated.  
          They found a sales clerk in the corner against the wall. She was under a fallen rafter, covered in plaster dust, wood splinters, shards of glass and other unidentifiable stuff. She didn’t move and looked more dead than alive. But she had to be alive or the Homo Revelus spell wouldn’t have found her. Conner bent down and rapidly began clearing away the debris on her; Albus remained standing and cast his own “Homo Revelus” spell checking for more life amidst the rubble. Finding none, he turned his attention to helping Conner. Together, the two lifted her up and away from the corner. _“Wingardium Leviosa!”_ shouted Albus. The store clerk floated gently up. Conner helped steer her body to the entrance while Albus kept the Leviosa spell going.  
          The two laid the clerk down on the ground outside the store heedless of the crowds of people that had gathered at the entrance. The clerk looked familiar but Albus couldn’t quite place her. “Give us some space,” instructed Conner as he put away his wand. He knelt down and listened at her chest. Albus had no idea what Conner intended to do but he looked like he knew what he was doing so Albus got the other people to move back. “I don’t think she’s breathing…” Conner murmured. He leaned up and tilted her head back. He placed his ear over her lips and waited. “Still nothing!” he said worriedly and he placed the heels of his hands on her chest and pushed down. “One, two, three, four…” he counted aloud. When he reached thirty, Conner stopped. With the fingers of one hand he pinched her nose and then placed his mouth over the clerk’s lips. Was that a _kiss?_  
          “What are you doing to my girl?” demanded the voice of Tom Richards. Albus looked up and saw Richards along with Dean Thomas and several other people in official ministry robes push through the crowds. He held out his wand defensively knowing Richards tended to cast spells first and ask questions later…  
          “Trying to save her life!” said Conner giving the clerk, definitely Crowley, what appeared to be another “kiss.”  
_“Protegio!”_ shouted Albus suddenly as he saw Richard’s wand move threateningly.  
          Conner lifted his head. “Want me to stop?” he questioned as he moved back to her chest and began pounding on it again while counting, “One, two, three…” Wizard Thomas held his hand up preventing further wand action from Richards.  
          Suddenly, Crowley gave a brief cough! Conner stopped pounding and turned Crowley to her side as she coughed some more and began to vomit. The vomiting stopped and she gasped in some more air.  
          “I think we can take it from here,” said Wizard Thomas calmly. He nodded to one of the other wizards with him, a younger man with red-brown hair, who stepped forward and knelt next to Crowley.  
          “Who are you?” questioned Conner suspiciously as the wizard pulled out his wand.  
          “That’s Wizard Thomas, head of Magical Law Enforcement!” whispered Albus while pulling Conner up and away from Crowley.  
          “So,” replied Conner unimpressed. “Does he know First Aide?”  
          “No,” answered Wizard Thomas calmly. “But we can get her to St. Mungo’s a lot faster than you…” The younger wizard scooped Crowley up in his arms. She coughed again as he stood.  
          “Albus! Are you all right?” Albus looked up and saw dad pushing through the crowds. “I heard there was an explosion and that you were—” his voice trailed off as his eyes took in the group.  
          “As you can see for yourself, your son is just fine,” said Wizard Thomas. “Miss Crowley, however did not fare as well,” he continued. “We were just about to take her to St. Mungo’s…”  
          “I’m going with her!” announced Richards suddenly. He pushed forward, took hold of Crowley’s hand and the three Apparated with a loud _crack!_  
          “You have got to tell me your sources one of these days,” said Wizard Thomas to dad when the three had left. “I didn’t even know about the explosion until I got here…”  
          “Some other time,” answered dad absently. “You sure you’re all right?” he questioned Albus worriedly.  
          “We’re fine,” assured Albus looking at Conner for confirmation. Conner nodded.  
          “What happened?”  
          “I don’t know,” replied Albus. “We were walking down the street when suddenly there was this huge blast…” He looked over at the huge gaping hole that had once been a storefront. Only when he recognized the remains of a sign dangling from the top of the opening that said “S ‘N S” did Albus realize that it was the store that carried Sabois, which had blown up.  
          “We went inside to look for survivors and found Crowley!” added Conner.  
          “Did you happen to see anyone outside before it happened?” questioned Wizard Thomas.  
          “No, sir,” answered Albus.  
          “That old geezer,” replied Conner.  
          “Geezer?” questioned Wizard Thomas with interest. “Could you describe him?”  
          “Sure,” replied Conner. “Old guy, patched gray robe, long white hair, bent over, thin, lots of warts on his face…”  
          “You saw all that?” questioned Albus amazed. He scarcely noticed anyone they had passed by!  
          Conner rolled his eyes. “Some bodyguard you make,” he told Albus.  
          Albus flushed with embarrassment. He knew he should be more watchful knowing Sir was still out there, anywhere, in disguise, but the threat just didn’t seem real.  
          “He was standing outside by the door watching and then turned to face the shop when we came near,” continued Conner. “I didn’t see him at all after the explosion and I looked. I thought he might have gotten hurt.”  
          “Hmmm,” said Wizard Thomas thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could get together with our artists and draw a picture of him. He could be an important witness…”  
          “Uh, sure, I can do that,” replied Conner.  
          “Excellent,” replied Wizard Thomas. “I’ll send an artist to Hogwarts when we finish here, Mr. ah,—”  
          “Fitzpatrick,” filled in Conner. “Conner Fitzpatrick.”  
          “Pleased to meet you,” said Wizard Thomas. “I’m Wizard Thomas head of Magical—”  
          “Law Enforcement, yeah, I heard,” said Conner, clearly unimpressed. “What magical law needs to be enforced here?” he asked bluntly.  
          “Conner!” whispered Albus anxiously. You just didn’t treat the Head of Magical Law enforcement with open disrespect…  
          Fortunately, Wizard Thomas didn’t seem to take offense. “I’m not sure yet,” he told Conner seriously. “That kind of depends on the cause of this explosion, don’t you think?”  
          “But you did not know about the explosion,” persisted Conner.  
          “Yes, well, first things first,” replied Wizard Thomas calmly. “Ah, Harry, could you do me a favour?”  
          “What?”  
          “I figure you’ll want the reassurance of Madam Pomfrey that your son and his friend are indeed fine which means you’ll be going with them to the Hogwarts infirmary.” Dad nodded. “Could you let Headmistress McGonagall know that I’ll be sending an artist by later to work with Mr. Fitzpatrick?”  
          “Yes, of course,” replied Dad.  
          “Thank you. You’re both witnesses,” Wizard Thomas told Conner and Albus. “When we finish here I’ll come to Hogwarts to get your statements. In the meantime, be careful!”  
          “Yes, sir,” said Albus and he returned his wand to ready position. Out of the corner of his eye, Albus saw Conner draw out his wand and put it into ready position too. Conner was right. Wizard Thomas was there for some reason other than the explosion, there in force with other wizards, probably aurors! There was more to the situation than he was saying aloud. That thought was confirmed when he saw dad draw his wand as well.  
          “Come on,” said dad, “the gates will be closing soon. I wouldn’t want you two to loose points for returning late…”


	32. Chapter 32

          A photo of a smoking hole and a huge black and white photo of a smiling Wizard Ercwlff appeared in the in Daily Prophet the next day. The following article appeared beneath it:

**_Death and Destruction!_ **

_Residents of Diagon Alley were shaken when the popular S‘N S store suddenly exploded at 5:00 pm yesterday. The interior was completely gutted and several stores nearby also reported damage by the mysterious blast. Officials recovered one body from the rubble. Ministry sources would not confirm that the body was Wizard Ercwlff, who was last seen entering the store minutes before the explosion._  
_Fifteen minutes later a second similar explosion occurred, this time at the S ‘N S store in Hogsmeade. S ‘N S Manager Paige Crowley was pulled from the rubble by a Hogwarts student. The student who, with his friend, just happened to be outside on the street when the explosion occurred, swiftly entered the smoking store and removed her from danger. Then he attempted to do some sort of Muggle healing ritual before Miss Crowley was transferred to more effective care of the Healers at St. Mungo’s._  
_Ministry Officials refuse to give the cause for the explosions._  
_S ‘N S Transportation Manager Tom Richards claims he thwarted an attack at the Hogsmeade S ‘N S store by the infamous Sir, responsible for the Quidditch match explosion and abduction last July. The attack apparently occurred minutes before the Diagon Alley explosion. Richards claims the explosions are intended to cover yet another kidnapping with Wizard Ercwlff as the victim and suggests that Sir wants to claim the secret of Sabois and Sorbitum’s popularity as his own._  
_More likely, disgruntled employee Paige Crowley and long-time girlfriend of Tom Richards cast the spells. Miss Crowley was seen arguing with Wizard Ercwlff just minutes before the explosions. According to the statement Miss Crowley gave to the Ministry, she claims no memory of events before the explosion but denies having ever left the Hogsmeade store._  
_Miss Crowley was the focus of an Imperius Curse trial last June claiming to be a victim of Witch Umbridge much of last year. It is well known that extensive use of the Imperius Curse can adversely affect a victim’s mind, which could explain memory gaps and erratic behavior. Miss Crowley could have easily followed Wizard Ercwlff from Hogsmeade to Diagon Alley and set off the explosions before returning to destroy the Hogsmeade store. She is currently at St. Mungo’s under Ministry guard while recovering from her injuries._  
_Neither Miss Crowley nor Miss Wycliff, victim of the Quidditch match explosion, was available for comment. Ministry Officials are looking for an elderly wizard with warts whom they believe may be an important witness to the case._  
_Wizard Alexander Ercwlff, founder of S’N S, rose to prominence this last year with his creation and introduction of the popular drinks Sabois and Sorbitum. A humble man from Clydach, Wales, Ercwlff spent his youth tending the family garden and experimenting with new flavours to delight his ailing grandmother. The wizard community knew him best for his genial nature and generous charitable contributions. “I just want people to be happy,” Wizard Ercwlff told this reporter in an earlier interview._  
_Indeed, Sabois and Sorbitum have made many people very happy. “There’s nothing better than a sip of Sorbi after a day of troublesome Muggles,” said Wizard Tuttle, Obliviator from the Office of Misinformation. “I would have never made it without Sabois,” said Miss Becky Smith when asked about her miraculous recovery from the summer explosion. “I start every day with a glass of Sorbi,” said Wizard Borage, author and publisher of the popular revised Magical Drafts and Potions. “It clears my mind so I can develop new potions.” Richards reported he regularly delivered twenty to forty cases of Sabois and Sorbitum a day to various locations throughout the wizard community further attesting to the popularity of these drinks. It is not known what will happen to the production of Sabois and Sorbitum without Wizard Ercwlff._  
_A candlelight vigil will be held in Wizard Ercwlff’s honour outside the S’N S stores in both Hogsmeade and at Diagon Alley 8:00pm tonight._

*****

          “Is that how it really happened?” asked Holly Wycliff after she had read the _Prophet’s_ account. The Potter clan, Holly and Conner included, were sitting squished together in Hagrid’s hut. It had been ages since Holly had shared tea with the Potters. Hagrid stood in one corner pouring tea from a huge teapot into a mismatched collection of mugs and cups.  
          “Um sort of,” replied Conner self-consciously. He absently rubbed Fang’s ears as he talked. The rest of Fang’s body was draped over Holly and Albus’ laps thus getting them to pet/rub him also. Sasha was perched safely on a high shelf out of Fang’s reach. “That was First Aide, not a ritual, I was doing,” he corrected. “I should have let her interview me so at least she could get the information accurate…”  
          “Forget it,” said Albus good-naturedly. “I doubt she’d have been any more accurate after dad said “no” to her interviewing me.”  
          “Don’t matter any,” put in Hagrid, “you an’ Conner did good rescuin’ ‘er despite wha’ th’ _Prophet_ says!” he said proudly.  
          “How’d you know what to do?” asked Holly curiously.  
          “My parents insisted we all take classes after, um, you know, after what happened during the summer,” explained Conner hesitantly. He seemed to ooze guilt and shame as he spoke.  
          “That wasn’t your fault!” Holly hastened to assure Conner. “None of it!”  
          “I thought we were here to talk about Sabois,” interrupted Lily petulantly. She seemed less than impressed that Albus and Conner had rescued someone and clearly had no interest in events during the summer. Or maybe she had heard it all before in the dorms or over the holidays... Lily was seated across from Holly squished in with Rose and Hugo.  
          “We are,” agreed James smoothly. He sat on a crate across from Hagrid in between the two groups. The table had been moved outside in favor of providing more room for everyone.  
          “Well?” demanded Hugo impatiently.  
          “The news is not good,” began James. “It seems as if no one but Wizard Ercwlff knows how to make Sabois. With him gone, the business will shut down for sure.”  
          “That’s awful,” said Rose in genuine distress.  
          “What’ll we do?” wailed Lily.  
          “That’s why we’re here,” said James confidently.  
          “’Ere ya are,” interrupted Hagrid and he passed out the mugs and other containers. “Drink up,” he commanded the group. “To Sabois!”  
          “To Sabois!” exclaimed James, Rose, Lily and Hugo loudly as they held up their drinks.  
          Holly, Conner and Albus politely held up her mug with the others. Then Holly took a small sip. It was best to be cautious around the things Hagrid served.  
          The reaction was immediate. Rose, Lily and Hugo immediately felt surprise and began to drink deeply; Albus and Hagrid drank deeply with obvious pleasure, James drank without distress or obvious enthusiasm and Conner gagged, with an intense urge to vomit. “This, uh, is not tea!” he managed to choke out. Holly recognized the faint but still gruesome taste of porridge in the sip she had taken…  
          "Nope!” replied Hagrid proudly. “It’s th’ last of my stash o’ Sabois. I figured who best to share it with but you!”  
          “See!” exclaimed Rose triumphantly. “I told you he’d drink it if you didn’t tell him first! What do you think? Great, isn’t it?”  
          “Are you going to the Candlelight Ceremony?” Holly asked loudly preventing Conner from answering while at the same time hastily poking her elbow into Conner’s ribs to insure he didn’t respond. Now was not the time for that kind of honesty.  
          “Of course,” assured Rose. Both Lily and Hugo nodded their heads in agreement. “Everyone will be there.” Not everyone, but Holly didn’t mention that either. She was certain Conner would never go, nor would Albus, in support of Conner. Not liking Sabois, she didn’t feel too inclined to go either though she knew the rest of the Hufflepuffs would be going.  
          “We can discuss that later,” put in James regaining control of the meeting, “I called you all here so we can bury the hatchet. There’s been too much fighting this year and it’s time we called a truce. Now, most of the arguing has been about Sabois,” he continued. “As it looks as if Sabois will no longer be sold, it no longer matters how it tastes or who likes or dislikes it. So let’s let bygones be bygones.”  
          “Fine by me,” announced Rose. “But it still tastes like dark chocolate.”  
          “Bertie Botts lemon supreme bean!” piped up Lily.  
          “Hot peppermint sundae!” said Hugo firmly.  
          “And that’s why we need more than words to put this family back together,” said James quickly, no doubt before an argument could begin. “We need some harmony,” he announced and pulled out a familiar looking green bottle from his pocket prominently labeled with the word “Harmony.”  
          "What’s this?” asked Rose suspiciously. She reached out and took the bottle from James and examined it closer.  
          “It’s something I got from Holly,” James said though it was not this particular Harmony bottle he had gotten from Holly. Clayton had returned that one and it was still in Holly’s bag, nearly empty.  
           James had, however, had a very long conversation with Holly about Harmony after he noticed Holly was again traveling with Mark and Becky. He wanted to know everything Holly knew, or thought she knew, about the potion including why she had talked to Paige in the first place. And, because James had held a contentedly purring Sasha in his arms the whole time, Holly had found the courage to answer his questions even mentioning things she had been too afraid to tell the "emotionless" Wizard Thomas earlier.  
          Without the assuring recognition of Sasha, Holly had been frightened of Wizard Thomas and his questions; he was too much like Sir, demanding answers without explanations and Holly had fled...  Only later did Holly remember that Sasha had never met Wizard Thomas and would have no reason to recognize him, but by then Holly had been so unnerved by the whole experience that she couldn't bring herself to suggest a second meeting...  Knowing what she now knew about Occlumency, Holly realized there was something "off" about being able to sense the emotions of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement in the first place, but at the time she had thought nothing of it and if she had she would have assumed Wizard Thomas had merely "unblocked" for her benefit, like Ravendra had.  
          Holly's talk with James had only been a few days earlier; James must have immediately written Paige right afterwards for some Harmony of his own.  
          “Not sure exactly what it does,” James added vaguely, “but the name sounds good and this family needs a lot of harmony. I took some a while back after one of our big fights,” he confessed, “and things somehow got better after that. Maybe it works like Felix Felicitas,” he suggested. “Only, instead of luck, it provides the user harmony…”  
          “You should _know_ not _guess_ before you take a potion,” informed Hugo reprovingly. Holly didn’t really know Hugo. The Potters had been arguing long before Holly had returned to Hogwarts so there hadn’t been any tea gatherings in Hagrid’s hut, none that she knew about or had been invited to... Well, one had been called right after she got back to Hogwarts to which she had been invited to, but then it got cancelled without explanation and was never rescheduled…  
          Hugo was as tall as Lily and had bright red hair. As near as she could figure, Hugo was smart like Rose. Holly suspected he could have gone into Ravenclaw had he wanted but chose Gryffindor instead. “That’s the first thing Professor Slughorn said about potions…” continued Hugo. “Then he said to mix your own or make sure it comes from a Healer or licensed Potions Mixer. He also said to be suspicious of a potion not listed in the potions directory; I don’t remember seeing Harmony listed there,” he added confidently. “That means it’s a designer potion; Professor Slughorn said to be wary of them; depending on the maker, such potions can be dark or unpredictable. Even if it does work, there could be all sorts of unexpected side effects.”  
          “Well, it’s certainly not dark,” assured James. “Both Professor Lovegood and Wizard Thomas checked it out. And I haven’t felt any adverse side affects. Have you, Holly?”  
          All eyes turned on Holly. “No,” she answered.  
          “That could just be a fluke,” announced Hugo firmly. “Did it come from a licensed Potions Mixer?”  
          “I don’t know,” stammered Holly. She’d never heard of such a thing; Professor Slughorn never talked about Potions Mixers when she was in class—of course she had missed his first week of lectures so perhaps he said it then. “Maybe…”  
          “So who made it,” questioned Rose.  
          “I should think the fact that Harmony has been approved by both Professor Lovegood and Wizard Thomas, head of Magical Law Enforcement, should be sufficient to offset any safety concerns,” said James before Holly could speak.  
          “So what’s it do?” questioned Hugo bluntly.  
          Holly took a deep breath while she tried to collect her thoughts. “I really can’t explain it,” she began softly. “The Hufflepuffs took it and we’re getting along much better now…” There was no way Holly could find words to describe the change that had happened within the Hufflepuff house after the group had taken Harmony. They were all working together again, working hard to make up scores and pass their classes. The atmosphere was so … right!  
          “If it worked for the Hufflepuffs then it can work for us too,” said James confidently.  
          “That’s if it _was_ the Harmony,” said Rose suspiciously. “More likely the Hufflepuffs took a look at their dismal scores and finally decided to do something about it. Did this wonderful change happen right afterwards?”  
          “Um, no,” admitted Holly. “But I’m certain the Harmony had something to do with it…”  
          “Even if it doesn’t,” put in James swiftly, “it can’t hurt. I propose we each take some Harmony, let bygones be bygones and perhaps we can all come back together as a family.”  
          “You sure we can trust Holly’s word?” questioned Hugo bluntly. “After all, she doesn’t like Sabois,” as if that preference made a difference in her judgment. Of course, that very preference had meant a lot to the students in the Hufflepuff house, before they took the Harmony.  
          Holly looked down at her mug full of Sabois. She never said she didn’t like it out loud but Hugo must have noticed she had only taken a small sip. She reached out and handed her mug to Hugo. “That just means there’s more for you to enjoy,” she told him. “And as there seems to be a limited amount of Sabois left,” she added, “It’s only right that someone who enjoys it properly drink this instead of me.”    
          Conner promptly handed the cup in his hand to Rose. “It’s wasted on me,” he told Rose diplomatically.  
          She sniffed and then took the cup. “I’m taking this only because we can’t get more,” she told him grumpily and poured the contents into her own mug.  
          “Want mine?” questioned Albus handing his cup to Lily. “Lemon supreme sounds infinitely better than just water…”  
          Lily took the cup hesitantly and looked up at James. “You sure there’s no more?”  
          “None that I know of,” he assured her. “Drink up!” he added and raised his mug in encouragement.   Everyone who still had cups raised theirs in a salute and then drank down the contents.  
          Hagrid sniffed as he put his mug down. “I shall miss Sabois,” he lamented. “Nothing but Sabois ever made me think of the rag pudding me mum used to make.” Holly smiled politely and inwardly shuttered certain the contents of a “rag” pudding matched the name.  
          “Well, perhaps I can give you a new flavour to think of,” said James cheerfully while setting down his mug. He opened the Harmony bottle. Everyone commented with surprise when the cork turned into a spoon. “Try some of this,” he said pouring the light green liquid into the spoon. He handed the spoon to Hagrid who looked at it hesitantly.  
          “Want me to go first?” James suggested.  
          Hagrid shook his head. “No,” he answered. “Jes’ don’t thin’ anythin’ can ever replace Sabois,” he said mournfully as his huge hand took hold of the spoon. He opened his mouth, placed the spoon inside and shuttered immediately. “Ghastly taste!” he announced and returned the spoon. “Lily, you might like it, though,” he added thoughtfully.  
          James refilled the spoon and handed it to Lily. She took the spoon, closed her eyes, opened her mouth and swallowed. “Lemon Supreme it isn’t,” she announced, “but not bad for a potion…”  
          James retrieved the spoon, refilled it and handed it to Rose. “It’s probably contaminated!” she said suspiciously.  
          “Anyone here whose germs you’re afraid of?” challenged Albus.  
          Rose flushed. “There’s nothing wrong with me!” she retorted. "I don't need to take it!"  
          “We didn’t fight like this last year, ever!” reminded James. “I prefer to think that adding Hugo to our group isn’t the reason we’re fighting this year.” Everyone looked at Hugo and he looked up imploringly at Rose. “Something else is out of balance,” continued James. “We _need_ harmony,” he added persuasively.  
          Rose rolled her eyes. “Very well!” she said with a snort. She took the spoon and rapidly emptied it of its contents. “You’re next,” she told Hugo. “James likes Sabois,” she reminded him, “so I don’t suppose his judgment can be _all_ that faulty.”  
          “And he got me back on the quidditch team,” reminded Albus as Hugo took a spoonful and returned the spoon to James. “I owe you for that one…” He took the recently refilled spoon from James and swiftly emptied it. “Lemon mint,” he announced to the group. “At least it’s different and not water.”  
          “Not crazy about the mint,” said Holly as she took the spoon. “But I’ve had loads worse tasting potions while trying to get to sleep.” Holly swallowed the potion and returned the spoon to James. He refilled it and held the spoon out to Conner.  
          Conner looked at the spoon and the green potion suspiciously. “Looks like puke,” he said bluntly with emotional disgust.  
          “Looks aren’t everything,” said James not moving the spoon.  
          “I’m not family,” he reminded James. And Holly sensed a sudden surge of worry; she guessed it occurred to Conner that if the Potters no longer squabbled, he’d become the odd man out. Conner had been the odd man out last year, tolerated, but not exactly part of the group.  
          “’Course you’re family,” argued Albus good-naturedly. “Like Hagrid. Besides, I only hang out with _relatives_ during school breaks so you _must_ be family…” Neither Conner nor Albus once mentioned what they had done over the Christmas Holiday, but Conner walked around Hogwarts with a lot more confidence afterwards.  
          Albus’ words seemed to ease Conner’s worries but still he hesitated. “I don’t need any harmony,” Conner insisted.  
          “I’ve slept loads better ever since I took it,” Holly whispered to Conner. She felt a surge of interest from Conner as he took the spoon. Conner had never complained of bad nights but Holly didn’t doubt he had them; she did. Maybe it was only because of the power of belief, but Holly hoped Conner’s dreams would improve as hers had after taking the Harmony.  
          “Last but not least,” said James pouring one final spoon of potion, which he swiftly swallowed. Then he tapped the spoon against the bottle and it turned back into a stopper.  
          “And now I think it calls for a celebration!” James said easily. He reached into his bag and started pulling out bottles. Holly felt a sudden lurch in her stomach but then she realized they were Butterbeer bottles… “I know that’s not the same as Sabois,” James continued in a regretful sounding voice, “but it’s a drink we can _all_ share…”

**********

          Harry Potter knocked lightly on the door to Dean’s office. “Come in,” came the reply.  
          “You wanted to see me?” questioned Harry as he stepped inside.  
          “Yes,” said Dean. “Close the door behind you and have a seat,” he instructed. Harry did as directed. “Would you like something to drink?” he offered. “Tea, perhaps, or I’ve some Sorbi if you wish…” he watched Harry closely for his answer.  
          “Tea,” said Harry with relief glad he didn’t have to pretend he enjoyed the Sorbi.  
          “I thought you liked Sorbi,” commented Dean as he pulled out a teapot and two cups and saucers.  
          “Not really,” admitted Harry, “but you seemed to…”  
          “A passing fad,” said Dean cheerfully as he handed Harry a cup filled with tea. “I’ve some news,” he added while he filled his cup with tea.  
          “Oh?” Harry asked as he stirred his tea.  
          “Yes, I think we’ve a witness to Sir in one of his other identities…”  
          “Who is he?” asked Harry. He leaned eagerly forward, all interest in tea forgotten.  
          “Can’t say yet,” replied Dean. “The connection is too slender. Wouldn’t want to say without more confirmation…”  
          “So why am I here?” Harry demanded.  
          “I’ve a favor to ask.”  
          “What?”  
          “The witness,” began Dean. “I want to put her somewhere safe. I think Sir realizes she could speak against him which means her life is in danger…”  
          “Certainly,” agreed Harry promptly. That way he could ask her himself whom she had seen…   But surely Dean would realize this, so why… “Why me?” questioned Harry out loud.  
          “Sir’s a metamorphmagus,” reminded Dean. Even now, the term sent shivers through Harry just thinking about it. “When he realizes she’s missing, he’ll start looking for her at the Ministry…” Dean leaned forward. “This is too important,” he told Harry. “I don’t want Sir getting his hands on her so I won’t be telling anyone where she is and I’m not leaving a paper trail so if anyone starts talking to you about her, including me, well, make sure it’s _me_ you’re talking to…”  
          Harry nodded. Placed in those terms, of course, he’d keep her. “When?” he asked and began mental plans to tell Ginny.  
          “Today,” informed Dean. “As soon as I can get her out of the Hospital.”  
          Hospital?!!!   A little alarm bell sounded off in his head. “Who is she?” Harry asked.  
          Dean leaned back. “A Miss Crowley,” he said in a casual sounding voice.  
_Crowley!_ Harry’s whole body seemed to stiffen. “Paige Crowley?” he questioned to be sure.  
          “Yes, Perhaps you’ve heard of her…”  
          Heard of her! Harry had spent every day in the courtroom last summer listening to Crowley’s trial to make sure Umbridge got put away and Dean knew it! “But she’s Slytherin!” Harry protested.  
          “Yeah,” agreed Dean. “Got a problem with that?”  
          “Uh…” Of course he did; she was a Slytherin! But that wasn’t a response Harry could give aloud…  
          “She nearly lost her life in that explosion!” continued Dean without waiting for an answer. “Your boy Albus helped rescue her,” Dean reminded. “I have reason to believe that explosion was no accident, Harry,” Dean added. “In fact, I think Sir may have been responsible…” Dean picked up a folder, pulled out a paper and handed it to Harry. “Have you seen this person?”  
          Harry looked down at a picture of a withered face, with long scraggly gray hair and lots of warts. It matched Conner’s verbal description of the “old Geezer.” Is this Sir?” he questioned hopefully while handing the picture back to Dean.  
          “Perhaps,” hedged Dean as he put the paper back in the folder. “Haven’t been able to find him to ask. Lots of people have seen him around Hogsmeade,” Dean continued, “but nobody we’ve questioned so far seems to know his name or anything about him…” Dean looked down again. “Now, I want Crowley to work on a project for me while she’s with you,” he said as if it were a “given” Harry would shelter her.  
          “What sort of project,” asked Harry suspiciously.  
          “A, uh, potions project,” admitted Dean.  
          “Potions!” exclaimed Harry. “We’ve no facility for that!”  
          “I know,” Dean agreed, “that’s why I asked Professor Slughorn open up the Slytherin potions labs from that contest a few years ago. I’ve put all the stuff from there into this bag,” he held it up a worn carpetbag that had been sitting on the floor beneath the desk. “That should be enough to get her started. If she needs anything else I’m sure she’ll let you know. You can get it yourself and give me the bill, or pass word on to me to pick up…” Dean pushed the bag within Harry’s reach. Harry eyed it suspiciously. “What sort of potion?” he asked not touching the bag.  
          “Just a potion,” Dean said vaguely.  
          “My house,” informed Harry firmly. “I need to know what’s being done there.” He waited. There was no way an unknown potion was being concocted in his home by a Slytherin!  
          “It, ah, has to do with Serenity,” said Dean finally.  
          “Serenity!?” questioned Harry. Holly had mentioned it in her report of her encounter with Umbridge, but that was ages ago. “What about Serenity?” Harry asked as he struggled to remember what she’d said—something to do with the _Imperius Curse_ …  
          It was an uncomfortably long wait before Dean finally answered. “Lookit, Harry, nobody knows Serenity better than Crowley. I need her to make a counter to it and I need her to be somewhere that I know is safe where Sir won’t somehow be influencing her work.”  
          “And what guarantee do I have that she won’t concoct something deadly using _my_ house as a base for operations!” demanded Harry angrily.  
          “Because she’s an auror!” snapped Dean.  
          “What?” exclaimed Harry in surprise. He’d never heard of a Slytherin auror before.  
          “An auror!” repeated Dean. “Her choice,” he informed Harry. “The paperwork was all there before the mess with Umbridge. You know Kingsley has been trying to find ways to include more Slytherins within the Ministry so they’ll have a vested interest in supporting it, well Crowley was one of those ways. She’s made the unbreakable vow, Harry, and I can tell you her potion work has already been invaluable to the Ministry. Also,” he added as an aside, “it’s been a real eye opener to hear the Slytherin perspective on things.” Dean pushed the carpetbag closer to Harry’s side of the desk. “I have reason to believe Sir’s been using Serenity, Harry. I’m fairly certain the ministry’s protected against a regular Dark Wizard attack, but not necessarily when done with Serenity. Crowley’s sworn to defend the Ministry; she’ll not betray us on this. You owe me, Harry,” Dean reminded. “Now will you help me with this?”  
          “I guess,” replied Harry reluctantly. He took the bag and placed it on the floor next to him.  
          “Great!” said Dean with satisfaction. “Now, if only Crowley could figure out a way to resist the _Imperius Curse!”_ He looked directly at Harry when he said this as if his words were intended as more than an idle wish.  
          “You can’t be serious!” exclaimed Harry in disbelief realizing exactly what Dean meant. Was this the real reason Dean wanted Crowley to stay with him? “I don’t even know her!”  
          “There’s plenty of time for that once she’s under your protection…” said Dean dismissively.  
          “It’s illegal!” reminded Harry.  
          “What is?” asked Dean innocently. “I haven’t asked you to do anything. I was just thinking out loud. Crowley’s an auror now and the Ministry can’t have its aurors doing the bidding of a Dark Wizard even if it was because of an _Imperius Curse!_ ” he added. “It was Crowley’s wand that caused the explosion, Harry and I’m certain it wasn’t by choice. What would have happened if Sir had ordered her to do something against the Ministry? The unbreakable vow would have come into play and she’d probably have died on the spot!”  
          Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. “No promises,” he told Dean.  
          “To what?” asked Dean blandly. Then he added, “You _will_ be discrete, won’t you?”  
          “Yeah, right,” replied Harry glumly. He picked up the carpetbag and stood. “I’d best get going,” he told Dean, “I’ve got to tell Ginny…”


	33. Chapter 33

          Wizard Thomas, Head of Magical Law Enforcement knocked lightly on the door and then came on in. The door was already opened and the knock was merely courtesy. Paige Crowley, sitting in the hospital bed, looked up at his arrival. She was reading the latest issue of the _Daily Prophet_. Tom sat in the chair next to her reading his own paper. An auror also sat outside the room keeping an eye on visitors.  
          “What are you doing here?” asked Tom belligerently. “You’re not going to arrest her are you?” he added defensively. “She’s got rights!”  
          “Of course she does,” agreed Thomas in a calm sounding voice though Paige could see frustration in his face at the effort to be polite. Tom’s prickly nature could get people to reveal almost as much about themselves as did her calm cold demeanor. “I have business with Miss Crowley,” Thomas added. “Could you excuse us for a while?” Tom looked questioningly at Paige. She nodded her consent. Thomas definitely had business, but nothing threatening or he wouldn’t have been so tolerant of Tom. Tom stood and left the room. Thomas set the bag he was carrying on the floor and then closed the door securely clearly wanted privacy for this conversation. Paige watched silently while Thomas pulled out the chair Tom had been sitting in and twisted it around so he could sit facing her.  
          “How are you?” the wizard asked in a concerned voice after he sat down.  
          Paige stared at him a moment before speaking seeking possible reasons for his words. “Fine,” she answered calmly. She was actually well enough to be released but the Healers hadn’t told her she could leave. She suspected Thomas had something to do with that.  
          “That’s good,” replied Thomas. “Professor Lovegood wrote me,” he began conversationally. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small scroll. “It seems there are several students in her Occlumency class having difficulty passing the test… She was wondering if she might get some Harmony. Knowing the concern I expressed about Harmony, she sent the request to me to forward on to you, if possible…” Thomas paused to catch his breath before continuing. “I, ah, see no difficulty in you sending her some Harmony if you wish,” he told her as he handed the small scroll to Paige. She took it without comment. “You’re a legal potions mixer now and can charge regular prices,” he continued, “though I hope you’ll give the school a discount rate. I have a feeling they’ll be sending a lot of business your way…” Thomas stopped speaking, presumably to give her time to look at the scroll, but Paige set it aside and resumed her stare at Thomas. He had already revealed its contents; she could read it later at her leisure. Thomas did not look ready to leave; Lovegood’s letter was not the reason he had come…  
          After a moment, Thomas shifted in his seat uncomfortably and then continued speaking. “Professor Lovegood also informed me that several students who had previously passed the Occlumency test recently failed a retest. She’s concerned there may be a trend…” Thomas stopped talking and shifted in his seat again. “I’d uh, like to help them out,” he began hesitantly, “but only if it can be done in such a way as to not connect with the Harmony you sent us at the Ministry. Do you think you could make some more Harmony and put it in a different shaped bottle with a different colour?”  
          “Yes,” answered Paige after a moment. Maybe something lavender with a pink cork…  
          “And, uh, is there a way to change the taste and/or colour of the potion?”  
          “No,” replied Paige flatly. As if she would ever attempt to modify a potion to satisfy injured Ministry pride even if it were possible.  
          “Oh,” said Thomas looking clearly disappointed. “Well, I’ll have a word with Lovegood about being discrete; I don’t suppose the students will be discussing flavor much between each other anyway…”  
          Paige continued to stare calmly at Thomas without speaking. Pilkington had already asked about the flavor of Harmony. He had come by as soon as he heard about the explosion. He asked her what happened and had frowned with worry when she told him she “didn’t know.” Certainly the “explosive” experience could rattle one’s memory, but the memory lapse could have other causes. No doubt he knew, as did she, that a “didn’t know” answer was one “guilty” people commonly said when they didn’t want to admit guilt. It was also the response when someone genuinely didn’t know because he or she had been placed under an _Imperius Curse_. Unfortunately, Paige was certain the shop was empty at the time so no one was near enough to cast a curse...  
          Then Pilkington had asked about the flavor of Harmony. Paige’s body had tensed at his words. Why had he asked? What did he already know? Paige kept all expression out of her face as she considered the question. What should she say? What could she say? Had Thomas given Pilkington some Harmony? He should have; she had included a small potion bottle containing a single dose of Harmony conspicuously labeled “for Pilkington” as a reminder to Thomas when she sent the Ministry a huge bottle of Harmony. But what had Thomas said to get Pilkington to drink it? Did Thomas tell Pilkington what the potion did, or rather, undid? Probably not. Thomas was fanatical about keeping the Occlumency part secret. But even if Thomas had said nothing, Pilkington was no fool; he could have guessed somehow the potion he received and Harmony were one and the same. Was that why he was asking about flavours? Or had Wycliff mentioned the taste of Harmony in passing and Pilkington had recognized the similarities? Could he have guessed the purpose too? He was smart enough to given the right clues… Paige didn’t dare try to second guess what Pilkington knew or didn’t know so she had imperiously told him she did not bother with “non-essentials,” implying she didn’t bother making special flavours for her potions.  
          This was true, but flavour was an “essential” component in Harmony. Serenity had been given to her without her knowledge. That would not happen again. The taste of Harmony would turn bitter and the colour became an inky black if the potion was mixed with any other substance before consumption. In addition, the potion itself would start to degrade and become useless once the flavor changed.  
          Pilkington had not been upset by Paige’s imperious response. In fact, he had listened intently to her words and then smiled his insufferably happy smile complete with that cheerful glint in his eye that made Paige think Pilkington knew much more than he was admitting to. She mentally shuttered to think what.  
          The last time Pilkington had smiled that way was when she consulted him about the interview with Thomas at the Hogshead. Pilkington had told Paige to behave as usual and promised there was a good chance they could use the meeting to her advantage. The results? Pilkington fixed it so Paige had employment for life. He had been very pleased indeed afterwards. Pilkington was clearly both intelligent and resourceful. Had he had more ambition, Pilkington would have made a formidable Slytherin.  
          Paige had not told Pilkington about her auror application; how had he learned? No doubt Pilkington had sources within the Ministry but he could have also learned it from Wycliff. Paige had learned by chance from Cousin Bulstrode that Pilkington was also Wycliff’s solicitor. Who else had Pilkington defended? What other secrets had Pilkington learned from his clients? Paige mentally shivered again and hoped that Thomas had indeed given Pilkington some Harmony. A dark wizard such as Sir would find Pilkington a wealth of information…

**********

_“Was that a flicker in her eyes when he mentioned flavour?”_ Dean Thomas wasn’t sure, but maybe it was. He wondered what it meant. It was hard to read Crowley. Never mind, he’d worry about it later. He had other business to conduct with Crowley now. “I’ve had a chance to read over your report,” he continued aloud in a business like tone. “And now that we’ve had a chance to review the evidence and all the other information available, there are a few points that need clarification…”  
          Dean paused and looked up to see Crowley’s response. She watched him coolly without expression and waited. Those black eyes were most disconcerting. After a moment, Dean continued. “Starting with the eyes…” he began, “are you certain they were blue? I mean it was such a brief instance that you could have been mistaken… Perhaps a trick of the lighting?” he added suggestively. He was giving her an out—a chance to back down from what she had said earlier…  
          “Blue!” Crowley said firmly.  
          “O.K.,” conceded Dean. “But perhaps they were always blue?” he suggested, “and you just noticed their blueness this time because he was so angry…” It was such a tiny detail Dean could see Wizard Ercwlff walking in with _blue_ eyes and denying they had ever been any other colour… Who but Crowley could say otherwise? Privately, Dean had no idea the color of Wizard Ercwlff’s eyes. He’d met him only briefly once and seen him in passing on all the other occasions.  Rita had some photos of him but none that clearly showed eye colour.  
          “No,” Crowley replied without hesitation.  
          “Yes, well, changing eye colour alone may not be a skill exclusive to Sir,” said Dean calmly, “but I can see how, that, with the extreme interest in Miss Wycliff may lead you to think so… But to attack indiscriminately?”  
           “He cast his spell first!” Crowley insisted.  
          “So you say,” agreed Dean, “but by your own account, you ducked before there was any indication of danger. It could be argued that he interpreted your defensive move as an act of aggression and that’s why he cast his spell... but unfortunately we only have your word on that.”  
          “You doubt my word?” she questioned icily.  
          “The courts will,” answered Dean dodging the question, “should this come to court. Richards only saw and heard the spell you cast,” he informed her.  
          “I did not destroy his shop,” Crowley replied imperiously.  
          “We have your wand,” Dean informed her. “The last spell used on it is _Bombardia Maxima!_ The last two spells, more accurately,” he amended. “Would you have the courts believe someone else used your wand and then returned it to you?”  
          Crowley’s eyes widened a fraction. Surprise? Good. Dean was relieved she clearly had no idea how her wand had been used. That supported Crowley’s story. “No,” she whispered.  
          “There’s also this,” Dean pulled out a scroll tied with emerald green ribbon, the kind Crowley often used to tie her hair. He handed it to Crowley. She looked at it curiously. Dean noted her fingers trembled slightly as she untied the ribbon.  
          Crowley’s black eyes grew wide as she read the contents. Dean didn’t blame her. It looked like a suicide note, fairly short but to the point. _“Ercwlff considers me beneath him! He shall regret such thoughts. I cannot live this way!”_  
          “It’s in your hand,” Dean informed Crowley telling her the obvious. “Do you remember writing it?”  
          “No,” she whispered looking back up at Dean.  
          “Have you any other explanation?” Dean demanded as he removed the scroll from her hands and rerolled it. He had his own ideas on that but wanted to hear what Crowley had to say on the matter first. “Are you certain you were alone in the shop when Richards left?” Dean persisted when Crowley didn’t answer.  
          “Yes.”  
          “Why?”  
          Crowley closed her eyes in thought. After a moment, she opened them and spoke. “The room was empty before Wizard Ercwlff came in,” she began. “The door did not open again until Tom entered. Anyone else entering would have had to come in at the same time as Wizard Ercwlff. Had someone come in with or behind him, that person would have had to use an invisible cloak or disillusionment charm; the exploding Sorbi would have washed off disillusionment charm and revealed the presence of someone under a cloak.”  
          Dean nodded. “How about after he left?” he asked. “Are you certain no one came in after him? Perhaps the door just sort of opened but you didn’t see anyone?” Crowley did not answer. Anyone else entering would have made things so much easier for her. She could have blamed that unknown person, real or not, for what happened afterwards. Dean was pleased Crowley stood by her report. Many within the Ministry had accused Crowley of using Umbridge as a scapegoat when she lodged her complaints last year…  
          After giving her a sufficient time to respond Dean reached into his bag and pulled out a scroll. “Have you seen this person?” he questioned while handing Crowley the scroll. It was a copy of the picture that Fitzpatrick had provided. He was surprisingly observant. That was a useful skill as an auror. Dean wondered if he could recruit him at some later date.  
          Crowley unrolled the scroll and looked at a person. “Yes,” she answered and handed the scroll back to Dean.  
          “Oh?” questioned Dean curiously. “Tell me about him.”  
          “He came in periodically and bought a bottle of Sorbi.”  
          “How often? When?”  
          “Once or twice a week at different hours,” she answered. “Why?”  
          “Do you remember the colour of his eyes?” asked Dean ignoring her question.  
          Crowley thought briefly. “Gray,” she answered. “Why?”  
          “He was seen standing outside your store right before the explosion,” Dean informed her. “Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to find him to take a statement.”  
          “Am I blamed for his disappearance?” Crowley asked bluntly.  
          “No,” answered Dean promptly. “Should we?”  
          “No.”  
          “That’s good,” replied Dean. “The interesting thing about this person,” he continued, “is that, though several people in Hogsmeade recognized him and admitted to seeing him about, no one could tell us his name, or anything that might help us find him.  
          “He said his name was Nicolas MacVellee,” Crowley reported calmly.  
          “He did? That’s great! Most likely Scot or Irish! I’ll get this information out immediately!” Finally! A lead!!!  
          “I wouldn’t bother,” informed Crowley coolly.  
          “Oh?”  
          “Nicolas MacVellee is probably an anglicized version of Niccolo Machiavelli.”  
          “So?”  
          Crowley sighed and seemed to roll her eyes upward. “Niccolo Machiavelli was a sixteenth century Italian diplomat and political theorist,” she explained. “He wrote _The Prince_ , commonly considered the origins of the concept “the ends justify the means…”  
          Dean shuttered. “That didn’t mean anything to you?” he asked realizing that Sir had been attempting to carry out that very concept.  
          Crowley shrugged. “Obviously he’s a Slytherin… _The Prince_ is a popular book in the Slytherin House even if it _was_ written by a Muggle,” she told him, “though many argue Machiavelli was actually a wizard who chose to walk freely in disguise among the Muggles and wield his influence from behind the scenes…”  
          Dean stared at Crowley in disbelief for several minutes. Again, all of that sounded just like Sir! Couldn’t she see the relationship? Or did all Slytherins think that way and the Ministry was lucky that only a few Slytherins actually _acted_ upon such thoughts… Finally, Dean blinked and asked, “Did you see, ah, Mr. MacVellee outside the window?”  
          “No.”  
          “He could have been looking in at the time of the explosion…” Dean persisted.  
          “No.”  
          “What about food?” Dean asked appearing to change the subject.  
          “Food?”  
          “Yeah. Could someone have drugged you?”  
          Crowley’s eyes widened. “You suggest that someone drugged me earlier in the day in anticipation of a confrontation with Wizard Ercwlff in which he would reveal information suggesting he might be Sir?”  
          “When you put it that way it does sound rather outlandish,” answered Dean dryly, “but yeah.” He had to eliminate the other possibilities.  
          “No one drugged me!” Crowley assured icily.  
          “Are you sure?” Dean persisted.  
          “Yes,” she replied confidently.  
          “Well, that leaves me in a very difficult position,” Dean told her. “Two shops have been blown up, one with a dead body inside and the evidence points to an employee of mine as being the guilty person! Either she did it deliberately or not. I would prefer to think “not.” That would only be possible if she were forced into the act by some outside influence except, in the absence of outside influence near enough to cast an _Imperius Curse_ , that cannot be possible either...” He looked at Crowley sternly as if waiting for some reaction. She looked back at him, her face a perfect mask of calm.  
          Finally Dean sighed. “It is fortunate for you that I am already aware of the unique properties of a certain potion called “Serenity.”  
          Crowley’s body seemed to tense up.  She didn’t speak so Dean continued, “If we assume Wizard Ercwlff is indeed Sir and Sir has had conversations with Umbridge then it is conceivable he is also familiar with the properties of Serenity…”  
          “No one drugged me,” Crowley insisted. “I am certain!” She had the same kind of confidence she had had when she said there were no side effects to Harmony. She was right then but not this time.  
          Dean reached into the bag lying on the floor. “Does this look familiar?” he asked pulling out a scroll and handing it to Crowley. She unrolled the scroll. There was a list of ingredients written on it. Crowley glanced at the list and looked up at Dean wordlessly. “Are these the ingredients of Serenity?” he questioned. He knew they were; Slughorn had provided a copy of Serenity when they were trying to confirm Holly's abduction story the previous year, but he wanted independent confirmation. It was an incomplete list but enough to be recognizable. Crowley did not answer. He took that for a “yes.”  
          “How about this?” Dean asked as he reached back into the bag and removed a stick of charred wood and placed it on the lap in front of Crowley. It gave off a smoky scented odor when she picked it up and examined it closer.  
          “It looks like part of a sandalwood torch,” Crowley replied calmly.  
          “Yes,” agreed Dean, “it is. We found it in the Hogsmeade shop.” Then he explained further. “Realizing Wizard Ercwliff demonstrated considerable creativity with the application of his memory potion, I had my people look at the rubble from the shop with a more “creative” eye…” Crowley handed the torch back to him and looked at Thomas questioningly. “It’s been soaked in Serenity!” he told her bluntly. “You’ve probably been breathing in the stuff every day since you began work in Hogsmeade…” The shock in Crowley's face was unmistakable. She had had no idea…  
          Dean added gently, “Knowing how Sir seemed to like the play on words with the name he gave Holly, it seems to me that the name Nicolas MacVellee is very much in keeping with his other activities… And if being under the influence of Serenity makes it possible for one to be affected by the _Imperius Curse_ from a longer distance, and say, through thin walls such as glass then there is a good possibility that it was Sir standing outside the window before the explosion directing things…” He waited to let that sink in.  
          After a while, Crowley’s expression returned to its usual icy calm. “He stank,” she whispered adding random facts of information. “Serious body odor.”  
_“Interesting,”_ thought Dean. No one else had mentioned odor. Had he only smelled when he entered the shop? An odor would encourage Crowley to keep her distance or was it done for other reasons…  
          Crowley closed her eyes clearly remembering. “And the store was always empty when he came in; he used his wand frequently to scratch himself…” she added. Dean mentally shuttered at such a disgusting habit. Then another thought occurred to him. Had MacVellee’s wand usage disguised other activities? Had he come in at solitary moments to discretely test the effectiveness of Serenity?  
          Crowley opened her eyes. “I’ve seen MacVellee’s wand,” she said suddenly. “It’s very distinctive. Has Miss Wycliff ever described Sir’s wand?”  
          Dean frowned. “No. But I’ll get a description right away!” Everything was supposition about MacVellee being Sir. It would be nice to have some actual physical confirmation. “You’ll need to put a description of MacVellee’s wand in writing and a sketch, if possible, on a dated report for comparison,” he told her. Crowley nodded. “Have you seen Ercwlff’s wand?” Dean asked. Dean had never seen Ercwlff’s wand but if the three people were one and the same, perhaps their wand was also…  
          “No,” answered Crowley. “You should ask Tom about that,” she added. Dean nodded. Richards had also worked for Ercwlff, so perhaps he had had an opportunity to see the wand.  
          Dean took a deep breath. “I cannot have my employees affected by Serenity,” he told Crowley calmly. “As you no longer work for Wizard Ercwlff,” your next assignment is to find something to counter the effects of Serenity.” Crowley nodded slowly in agreement.  
          And now, for the hard part: “Also, I’m putting you in protective custody.”  
          She looked up at him in surprise. “Why?”  
          “You are a witness,” Dean told her. “One who possibly has knowledge of Sir in one or more of his disguises. He’s already tried to kill you once; and if Sir wants you dead, then I definitely want you … alive.”  
          "I can defend myself!” Crowley assured Dean coldly.  
          “If that were true, then you wouldn’t be in this hospital,” argued Dean. They had been very lucky that Albus and Conner had been right outside when the explosion happened.  
          “I didn’t know then what I know now,” Crowley countered. “Tom and I will manage just fine,” she informed him.  
          “Not this time,” insisted Dean. “You’re an auror now and your safety is my concern as well. I want you where I will know you are safe and where you will have sufficient support should you need it.”  
          “Support?” questioned Paige.  
          “Yes. You cannot return to your flat until this is all over,” Dean informed her. “Sir has demonstrated considerable ability to plan ahead. You think he hasn’t already got alternate plans to deal with you? I’ve got to make sure they don’t happen. Now, I’ve already made arrangements for you to go somewhere safe where you will have the peace to think and access to whatever ingredients you need to work on something to counter Serenity. This is an order, Crowley and is not negotiable!”  
          Paige stared at him. “Where?” she finally asked.  
          “I can’t say,” Dean answered relaxing a bit. “Sir may have eyes and ears everywhere and I don’t want that information getting out.”  
          There was a long silence while Crowley considered this. Finally she spoke, “I’ll go only if Tom comes with me,” she agreed conditionally.  
          “No!” argued Dean. “I’ve made arrangements for only you!” Harry would have a fit if he had to put up with two of them!  
          “Sir also threatens family and loved ones,” reminded Crowley. “I’ll not rest easy in any location unless I know Tom is safe too.” She waited.  
          Dean studied her icy expression. It was clear she would not compromise on this. He could try forcing her into a hidden location but she would probably not work on the needed potions in protest or, at worst, leave. Unfortunately, Crowley also had a point…  
          Finally Dean sighed. “Very well,” he agreed reluctantly. “Both of you. But it’s unplottable,” he added. “You’ll only have visiting rights and you must both agree to not leave the premises for any reason until I say otherwise.”  
          Crowley nodded. “Unless it becomes unsafe,” she qualified.  
          “It’ll be safe,” Dean promised grimly. _“I’ll find some way to make it up to Harry later,”_ he promised himself. Aloud, he added, “I want you to both leave directly from here, _now_ , before anyone else knows you’re gone or has a chance to learn of my plans.”  
          “But what about clothes?” protested Crowley.  
          “That’s all been taken care of,” Dean assured her.  
          “But not for Tom,” she reminded him.  
          “We’ll work that out later.”  
          “I prefer to work it out now,” replied Crowley coolly. “I don’t live out of a suitcase. Neither does he. We’ll have to replace those things that we usually use because of this hasty exit… And hand-me-downs from off the street are _not_ acceptable!”  
          Dean rolled his eyes, “Of course,” he said with exaggerated politeness. Sometimes he hated dealing with Slytherins; they were so condescending and demanding… “Make me a list of what you need and I’ll take care of it.”  
          “I’ll do that,” Crowley agreed. There was a smug gleam in her eye. Dean had visions of receiving a very _expensive_ “needs” list… He’d probably have to square it with Kingsley to get the Ministry to foot the bill… “If there is nothing else, then I’ll need some privacy with Tom so I can explain things,” Crowley added imperiously.  
           “Actually, there is something else,” replied Dean acutely aware that Crowley had just attempted to dismiss him. _Him!_ Head of Magical Law Enforcement! Unbelievable! Dean shoved the thought aside, forced himself to remain calm and added politely, “This is a portion of McGonagall’s report on Umbridge that I thought you might find of interest,” he told her as he pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I don’t believe you had access to it while you were preparing for your trial…”  
          Dean hadn’t highlighted the part he wanted her read but it was hard to miss being the focus of the page. It was part of James Potter’s account of what happened in the woods when he and Albus found Witch Umbridge with Holly Wycliff. The important line came after Albus had disarmed Witch Umbridge and had said: “Did you really think I would _ever_ let myself be caught under the influence of an _Imperius Curse_ again? If dad can resist the curse then so can I!” James had been proud of his brother’s acting ability and glad all their work over the holidays had actually worked…  
          Dean had no idea what “work” had been done with Albus over the holidays, didn’t want to know as it probably involved doing something less-than-legal but Dean figured Crowley would find such information useful considering in whose house she would be residing…  
          Crowley read through the page and looked up at Dean expectantly. Without speaking Dean reached out and took the page. Let her ponder the meaning of the report while he arranged her transfer. Other “activities” might occur to Crowley later once she actually met Harry. “I’d best be letting you talk with Richards,” he told her as he rose from the chair. “Make sure he understands that he must stay with you and not leave,” Dean warned.  
          “He will,” Crowley assured him.  
          “I’ll be right outside,” Dean informed Crowley. He opened the door and found Richards standing in the hall next to it. Had he been there the whole time? “She wants to see you,” Dean told Richards. Richards smiled and stepped inside closing the door behind him.  
          Dean leaned up against the hall across from the door and waited for their conversation to end. Too bad he couldn’t listen in. Richards had a hothead reputation; his pride would never let him agree to go into hiding. Dean wondered how Crowley would handle it.  
          Then Dean tried to think of a way to break the news to Harry about _two_ guests instead of one. He finally decided it would be best to spring it on Harry without advance warning when they arrived on his front steps. That way Harry wouldn’t have a chance to refuse…


	34. Chapter 34

          “Well, is it the same?” asked Harry eagerly. They were in Dean Thomas’ office and Harry was seeking news in the Sir investigation. It was something Harry had done frequently during the year so Dean was fairly certain that his presence wouldn’t arouse undue interest or notice from anyone looking for Crowley.  
          “It is most definitely,” Dean paused here adding emphasis and suspense, “not!”  
          “No!” exclaimed Harry in frustration and disappointment.  
          “On the other hand, I showed the sketches to Wizard Ollivander…”  
          “And?”  
          “Well, he can't be certain without actually holding the wand, but he thinks Miss Crowley’s sketch is of a wand that might have belonged to a witch who went missing during the early days of Lord Voldemort, most likely another one of his victims. Sir definitely has some connection to Lord Voldemort,” Dean added thoughtfully, “but I don’t know what or how we can make use of that information. Maybe Snape would know more…”  
          “What about Holly’s picture?” persisted Harry bringing Dean back on topic.  
          “Ollivander thought that might have belonged to a young Asian lad he sold a wand to some fifteen years ago, a boy by the name of Son Tsu…”  
          “Asian!” exclaimed Harry in surprise. “That should be easy enough to trace…”  
          “You’d think so,” replied Dean dryly, “except there is no record of a Son Tsu ever attending Hogwarts, so I checked with Professor Slughorn and it turns out that Sun Tzu was a famous Chinese general and author who wrote _The Art of War_ some 2000 years ago…” He saw Harry shutter at the subject title of the book. Dean had done the same.  
          Dean had shuttered even more when Professor Slughorn showed him the small Slytherin House library. Professor Slughorn informed Dean that the shelves contained books often read for inspiration, motivation and/or relaxation by the students. Dean quickly found _The Prince_ and _The Art of War_ , on the shelves tucked between a book titled _Alexander the Great,_ and one on Julius Caesar. He also noted a book on Rasputin, several well worn copies of _The_ _Rise and Fall of a Dark Lord_ (Voldemort) and something titled: _Mein Kamph_ by Adolph Hitler… It was not a reassuring collection.  
          “However, that gave us a smaller window of years to work with,” Dean added. “So we pulled out the Hogwarts class roster of Slytherins who entered school fifteen-sixteen years ago…”  
          “And?” asked Harry expectantly.  
          “Nothing. Professor Slughorn didn’t remember the wand and could think of no student on the list who fit Sir’s description either physically or with that kind of personality. I checked the other professors and they didn’t either.” Harry leaned back in disappointment.  
          “So we decided to run down and personally interview each name on the list; it wasn’t all that large…”  
          “And?” Harry leaned forward again hopefully.  
          “We were able to find all but five students,” Dean paused. He could see the eagerness in Harry’s expression, “and of those five, _one_ student’s name is _missing_ from the official Wizard Admissions to Hogwarts list! We’re not sure how that was done,” Dean added reflectively. “That sort of thing is supposed to be permanent but it was a name from fifteen years ago so was located several pages back which is why no one in recent years noticed it…”  
          “Who?” Harry asked impatiently.  
          “His name is Henry Tore!”  
          “Where is he today?”  
          “No idea,” answered Dean honestly. “The last record we could find of Henry Tore was when he received final passing scores from Hogwarts eight years ago. I went back to the professors and asked them about Henry Tore and those who remembered him said he was a quiet boy, averaged size, with brown hair. I also checked his scores –Mostly “Acceptable.” Got E’s in Potions, Runes and Defense Against the Dark Arts in his O.W.L.s, “Acceptable” scores after that and never took the N.E.W.T.s. He wasn’t on the quidditch team and never participated in contests. As we guessed, he had no detentions, either, explaining why he doesn’t recognize Snape. Over all, Henry Tor did nothing that stood out or was particularly noticeable.  
          “What about his family?” asked Harry.  
          “That’s a bit of a problem,” admitted Dean. “You see, we’re guessing that Henry Tore is an alias too.”  
          “What!”  
          “Yes, Professor Lovegood pointed out that the middle name is “Tiu.”  Alone, it is an Anglicized version of the name of an ancient Norse God for which Tuesday is named,” Dean added informatively.  “But she noticed that when one put the three together, Henry Tiu Tore becomes Henry Tutor.  “Tutor” was the family name of a long line of British rulers including Queen Elizabeth I and Henry the Eighth.”   
          “And she never said anything to anyone about this?” asked Harry in disbelief.  
          “Of course not,” replied Dean defensively. “Why should she? Those were the early years after the Battle at Hogwarts,” he reminded Harry. “There were lots of Slytherins changing their names to escape the stigma of Lord Voldemort and his followers. It was impossible to keep track of them all. Besides,” he reminded Harry, “it’s not illegal to change one’s name.”  
          “So we’re back to square one,” concluded Harry disappointedly.  
          “Looks like it,” replied Dean. “We still have that idea of yours to try…”  
          “Yeah,” said Harry but he didn’t look too pleased. The idea was risky and had no guarantee of success.  
          “Uh, how’s it going, uh, otherwise,” asked Dean in a conversational voice changing the subject. Even in the privacy of his office he did not mention Harry’s unofficial guests by name…  
          “We’re managing,” replied Harry stiffly. He still clearly hadn’t forgiven Dean for dumping Richards on his doorstep but at least they were still talking. Of course, that was probably because of Sir. Dean figured Harry would do just about anything to get Sir. “Mrs. Black got involved,” Harry told Dean.  
          “Oh?” replied Dean remembering that nasty portrait in the entryway.  
          “Yeah, I’ve never seen her happier. She got Kreacher to move them into new rooms. Not ours, fortunately,” Harry added ruefully, “though I think Kreacher would have tried had she said to. Mrs. Black thought the rooms Ginny selected were too small. She also has Kreacher serving them afternoon tea every day and has been planning all our menus digging up these fancy old recipes she maintains would please the more “discerning” Slytherin palate... They seem to like it. Not so sure I do…”  
          “How about what she’s, uh, doing?” Dean asked delicately referring to Crowley’s potion work. “Is everything O.K.? Do you need anything?”  
          “Turns out we had a Potions room,” replied Harry.  
          “You do?”  
          “Yeah. It’s in the cellar. Seems it was hidden by an invisible door so aurors couldn’t find it… Mrs. Black told _them_ how to get into it though—She’s using Kreacher to clean it out.”  
          “Mrs. Black or, uh, _her_?” Dean asked curiously.  
          “Her,” replied Harry. “I think she’s having the time of her life ordering him about.” He bent down and pulled up a familiar looking carpetbag that had been resting on the floor next to his chair. It was one Dean knew contained an extendable charm. Dean had once given that particular bag to Harry filled with potion supplies. “I’m returning this,” said Harry while placing the bag on the desk in from of him. Dean reached out. “Careful,” Harry added as Dean lifted the bag, “It’s filled with some pretty dark stuff. I’m glad she’s an auror or I’d worry about turning her loose in my cellar. Her face actually lit up when she saw what was inside the room, which, as you know, is saying a lot for her.”  
          “Yes,” agreed Dean as he carefully removed the bag from the desk and placed it gently on the floor next to his chair. He’d get a couple of aurors to go through it later. “Fortunately, she makes a pretty reliable witness, one who can swear you knew nothing about the presence of these things and weren’t deliberately hiding them, not to mention seems totally capable of clearing it out…”  
          “That’s true,” agreed Harry. “Which reminds me, she asked me to give this to you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.  
          “Oh? What is it?” asked Dean as he reached out to receive it.  
          “She didn’t exactly say,” replied Harry, “but I think it’s a bill…”  
          “A bill?” questioned Dean looking up at Harry in surprise. “What for?”  
          “Not sure, but I heard R—uh her _friend_ mutter rather loudly about how she shouldn’t risk her life doing hazardous waste removal…”  
          “Hazardous waste? Oh, you mean your Potions Room?”  
          “Yeah, it was pretty nasty in there.”  
          Dean unfolded the paper and winced at the amount specified within. He should probably run this past Kingsley also. He folded the paper and looked back at Harry. Harry had sat silently while Dean looked at the bill. There was nothing in his expression, but there was something in the eyes, hiding behind the glasses… “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Dean asked suddenly having recognized a familiar glint that signified repressed humour.  
          “Yep,” answered Harry without a hint of guilt in his voice or expression. “When this is all over I’ll have them out of my house but _you’ll_ still have an employee—a very _expensive_ employee…”  
          “Yeah,” agreed Dean ruefully while thinking of the cost of all the “necessary” items he’d had to get to Crowley earlier. “At least she’s working _for_ us instead of against…”


	35. Chapter 35

           “Are you ready, Holly?” asked Cousin Harry. He stood on the wizard side of the Kings Cross Station.  
           “Um, just a moment,” Holly Wycliff told her cousin. She turned and gave both Mark and Becky a final good-bye hug before saying “Yes, sir, I guess I’m ready.”  
           “Sir?” questioned Cousin Harry with surprise. “You’re using _sir_ again?”  
           “Yes, sir,” laughed Holly. “Like you said, it’s only a word…” Of course, it wasn’t Cousin Harry’s comments that had gotten Holly to use the term again…

**********

          “How dare you!” raged Conner when he opened the package Holly had given him.  
           “But you used to like them,” protested Holly.  
           “Not any more!” exclaimed Conner. “You of all people should know why!”  
           “I _do_ know why,” argued Holly and she knew with every fiber of her body. “That’s why I got it for you!” They were talking about a book Holly had just given Conner. It was a very special book; the book Conner had been reading when Sir had invaded his life. Holly had gotten the name of the book from the Muggle police reports. Vernon knew this girl who knew where to find books like that. She had found a replacement copy plus the two volumes that apparently came after it…  
           “Sir took something from you that day,” Holly argued. Sir had taken a lot from Conner that day. Conner’s emotions were not as they once were and Holly still felt overwhelming guilt for her part in that every time she saw Conner. “Something that made you you!” Holly continued. “If you don’t like this kind of book any more, fine, but let it be _your_ decision, not Sir’s,” she pleaded. “That’s why you’ve got to read this book; read it, finish it and then go on to the next few books before you decide whether or not you still like them— _you_ —not Sir!”  
           “I can’t!” whispered Conner desperately. “Every time I even look at the pictures I think, I think,” Conner shuttered unable to finish.  
           “I know,” whispered Holly. She didn’t exactly know what he thought, but she knew what he felt, just talking about it gave Holly all sorts of horrible emotions. “That’s why this is so important. You’ve got to read that book and make some new memories!”  
           “Huh?”  
           “The only way you’re going to get that day, that image, out of your head is to put some new ones in over it, positive images that you can dwell on instead. I want to show you something,” continued Holly before Conner could refuse. “Over here.” Holly walked to the back of the infirmary and faced a picture of a fancy dressed lady with blonde ringlets. Conner followed. “May we pass?” she asked the portrait. The lady nodded as Holly knew she would (Holly had already talked with Madam Pomfrey about using the room) and the picture swung open revealing a staircase behind.  
            “I figure if you read that book in a new location with Albus and me reading our own books nearby you will have some new memories that will help the others fade away…” Holly continued nonstop as they walked. She felt Conner’s stomach churn as she spoke so Holly added, “maybe some hot chocolate or tea, or juice to drink while we read…”  
           “Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans!” contributed Albus helpfully who was following along. “You can’t be thinking of other tastes when you’re eating them. Ever try one of those earwax beans? Nasty!” Albus shuttered.  
           “But if you don’t want to read it up here, we could use the Room of Requirement and set it up to look any way you want and we can bring snacks to munch on… Real food, not—” Holly gulped not wanting to continue that line of thought. “Well, what do you think?” Holly asked when they reached the spacious room at the top of the steps.  
           “This is nice,” commented Conner reluctantly when he looked around the room with its walls lined with huge leafy plants of all sizes. A small gurgling stream circled the room watering the plants. In the center was a comfy looking sofa, some arm chairs and a table beyond.  
           “I like it,” agreed Holly.  
           “Yeah,” agreed Albus who had followed the two up the stairs. “Though I don’t remember thinking it looked so good last time.”  
           “Last time?” questioned Holly curiously.  
           “Yeah, after the collapse. I stayed up here all night with Madam Pomfrey,” he informed her. “I found out later we missed all the action.”  
           “What action?”  
           “The Slytherins apparently broke into the Infirmary,” Albus answered matter-of-factly.  
           “They did? What happened?”  
           “Not much. They came in looking for me but they didn't know about this room so they stayed below, knocked a few things over and left.”  
           “Then they stormed the Gryffindor dorm,” continued Conner.  
           “They did?” questioned Holly. She remembered Sean Finnegan had alluded to something like that during her encounter with the Slytherins last spring but had never gotten the details. “What happened?”  
           “Not much,” replied Conner. “Professor Longbottom warned us they were coming, changed the password to be on the safe side, then told us to ignore them and let the Fat Lady do her job.”  
           “Which was?” questioned Holly.  
           “Guarding the entrance of course.”  
           “How?” Holly couldn’t imagine the Fat Lady in the portrait doing much of anything against determined Slytherins.  
           “She sang.”  
           “What?” Holly asked in disbelief.  
           “Sang. Opera, I think. Couldn’t understand a word of it! She sang all night! Very loud and piercing.” Conner shuttered at the memory. “We had to use earmuffs to get to sleep but they didn’t work too well, not that anyone of us really wanted to sleep anyway. I don’t know much about Opera, but I’m pretty sure the Fat Lady was singing off key. The Slytherins couldn’t shut her up or get in and they eventually left. I don’t blame them,” Conner added sympathetically. “Believe me, you do _not_ want to listen to the Fat Lady sing!”  
           “I had no idea,” whispered Holly.  
           “Why should you?” commented Conner blandly. “It was no big deal. Nobody was hurt and I’m sure you had your own worries at the time…”  
           Holly nodded remembering the Hufflepuff nightmares that had kept her up all night and her overwhelming worry for Albus… That seemed like ages ago. Holly closed her eyes and forced herself back to the present. “So will you do it?” she asked opening her eyes again.  
           Conner looked about the room thoughtfully. “I’ll do it!” he said suddenly with determination. Holly breathed a sigh of relief. “On one condition…”  
           “What?”  
           “That you get over your fixation with the word “sir” first.  
           “What?!!” exclaimed Holly with surprise. A knot formed in her stomach as she spoke.  
           “Let’s face it, Holly,” began Conner. “I’m not the only one Sir messed with. You’re probably worse off than I am. You cringe every time someone uses the word “sir.” You barely speak in class, probably because of that, and when you do, you kind of drop your sentences stopping just short of saying “sir.” You clearly don’t know what to say instead of the word “sir” but you don’t want to use it either… It’s painful to listen to. I know it’s probably just the tip of the iceberg for you Holly, but there it is. You spend a week using the word “sir” properly in every class and I’ll read this book with you afterwards.”  
           “I don’t want to read it,” protested Holly weakly knowing even as she spoke that was not what Conner meant but not wanting to face his actual proposition.  
           “I can mention your phobia to Richards,” offered Albus affably. “He can get the Slytherins to razz you about it. It might even put him in good with the rest of them.” Ever since that day in December the three had noticed that Tony spent much of his time on his own and no longer seemed friends with Malfoy. No doubt that was probably because Malfoy obviously loved Sabois. But with Sabois no longer in the picture, perhaps Tony could renew some old friendships…  
           “You wouldn’t!” exclaimed Holly aghast.  
           “Why not?” he asked reasonably. “There’s nothing better to take the bite out of a word than having it over-used. Besides, the Slytherins would have been teasing you about it long before now if they hadn’t been so busy ignoring you because you didn’t like Sabois…”  
           “Well?” questioned Conner. “How much do you want me to read this book?” he held out Holly’s gift in front of her.  
           Holly gulped. They were right, of course, but could she do it? Could she ask less of herself than what she was asking of Conner?

**********

           “Where are we going?” asked Holly Wycliff after the two pushed through the barrier to the Muggle side.  
           “It’s a park someplace,” said Harry vaguely as they walked outside.  
           “You’re worried,” observed Holly.  
           “Sir is still out there,” reminded Cousin Harry. “I shall not rest easy until you are safe with your family.”  
           “Oh. Look, there’s Stan!” Indeed a familiar battered taxicab was parked at the curb waiting for them.  
           “’ello ‘olly!” greeted Stan hopping out of the cab immediately upon their arrival. “’ow are you?”  
           “Just fine, sir,” replied Holly with a grin. It was almost liberating being able to say “sir” without fear.  
           A week of “sir” was as difficult as Holly imagined. Deliberately using “sir” when speaking to the professors felt like cruel torture. But it got easier the more she did it. Then the Slytherins went after Holly with a vengeance using the word “sir” at every opportunity… By the end of the week, hearing and using the word “sir” no longer made Holly jump or gave her nightmares and Tony again kept company with Malfoy.  
           Conner kept his word and struggled through Holly’s gift with both Albus and Holly by his side, each reading their own books. Conner opted to read the book in the Room of Requirement where he could have access to a “puking” bowl at a moment’s notice. Holly and Albus kept their heads down the whole time and pretended to not notice Conner’s physical reactions while reading the book. (The puking bowl got used frequently even though Conner started out with an empty stomach.) When he finally finished, Conner still hated the thought of the book, but the intense revulsion wasn’t so strong and he read the next two books in the series with much less difficulty. He even talked of checking the bookstore to see if the next installment was for sale…  
           “Take us to this location,” said Cousin Harry while handing Stan a folded piece of paper. “Make sure no one is following,” he added.  
           “You got it,” said Stan while unfolding the paper. He refolded the paper and put it in his pocket. Then Stan opened the passenger door; Holly and Cousin Harry got into the cab. Sasha lightly leaped in too, immediately settling onto Holly’s lap and began purring loudly.  
           “I’ve some good news,” began Cousin Harry when they had strapped in.  
           “Oh?”  
           “Yes, Healer Winonan has lifted his medical objections to you learning to Apparate.”  
           “He has? That’s terrific!” exclaimed Holly.  
           The Apparations instructor had come to Hogwarts after the Christmas Holidays. Holly had begged to join in but the instructor refused claiming Holly wasn’t old enough. Cousin Harry would have argued on Holly’s behalf but Healer Winonan sent a note insisting it was too dangerous for Holly to attempt to learn to Apparate until she was fully recovered from her experience with Sir. At the time, Holly still dreamed gray. In the face of the Healer’s objections, Cousin Harry would not risk Holly’s health. “There’s still Winky,” he reminded her. “You can wait…”  
           “I take it that means you finally started to dream?” inquired Cousin Harry.  
           “Yes, it does,” admitted Holly with a smile. “In full colour with lots of people and places…” Sometimes Holly laid awake in bed a long time afterwards just trying to recapture the beauty and vividness of her dreams.  
           “And blocking?” Cousin Harry questioned worriedly.  
           “I can do that too!”  
           “You can?” he asked with surprise. “When did that happen?”  
           “Um, right before I started dreaming,” Holly admitted.  
           “Interesting. Do you think they’re connected?”  
           “I don’t know,” mused Holly. “I hadn’t really thought about it but they could be...”  
           “That’s good to hear,” said Cousin Harry with relief, “the blocking, I mean. I was worried about that. Even so, as soon as I got Healer Winonan’s clearance, I went to Wilkie Twycross, the Ministry Apparition Instructor. I had a very long talk with him. While he firmly believes that you are way too young to successfully Apparate I managed to persuade him that your special circumstances make learning the skill a necessity. Consequently, he has agreed to teach you the basics of Apparating once you reach your fifteenth birthday.”  
           “My fifteenth birthday?” questioned Holly excitedly, “but that’s, that’s only a month—”  
           “Away,” finished Cousin Harry. “Yes, I know. I’ve already talked with your father about this. As much as he hates magic, your dad agrees that this is something you need to learn. I’ve made arrangements for you to spend a few weeks with me after your birthday so you can receive private instruction in Apparating.”  
           “For real!” questioned Holly in disbelief.  
           “Yes, for real,” replied Cousin Harry calmly though his emotions reflected both pride and pleasure at his success.  
           “Thank you so much!” Holly exclaimed and impulsively gave her cousin a hug, which he warmly returned.  
           “Of course,” Cousin Harry added sternly when Holly had released him, “knowing how doesn’t mean you should do it. You still cannot legally Apparate until you reach age 17, pass your Apparating test _and_ receive your Apparating license. Understand?”  
           “Oh, yes, sir,” breathed Holly happily. “I would never Apparate unless I absolutely had to anyway,” she told him. “I _hate_ Apparating! You know that!”  
           “I do indeed,” agreed Cousin Harry. “But better to know than not…”  
           “Yes, sir.”

**********

          “There’s a lot of people here, today,” observed Cousin Harry worriedly when Stan left them at the park. The park was medium sized and filled with people—parents and children, old people watching the world, babies and everything in between. “Are there any wizards?”  
           Holly Wycliff closed her eyes and focused with her mind. Then she opened her eyes. “No,” Holly answered. “Not that I can sense,” she amended. It would take time and effort to match emotions with bodies but Holly wasn’t too worried about the possible presence of people she _couldn’t_ sense. Stan didn’t tell anyone which park they were going to before he had brought them there because he didn’t know the location beforehand and his wild driving insured no one followed. In addition, Holly knew Cousin Harry would never reveal the park’s location to anyone but her parents and she knew her parents wouldn’t tell anyone either so there was no logical way anyone from the wizard world would be there…  
           “Why don’t we sit down over there?” suggested Cousin Harry pointing to an empty bench on one side of the park.  
           “O.K.” answered Holly. Cousin Harry lifted her bags and headed towards the bench. Sasha scampered ahead seeking out the new scents and Holly followed.  
           “You dropped this,” said a new voice from behind and one side as a piece of folded paper was thrust suddenly under her nose.  
           “Thank you,” answered Holly without thinking. Her hand reached out automatically to take the paper even though she didn’t recognize it and was fairly certain it wasn’t hers… Then Holly stopped in her tracks suddenly realizing that the voice came _without_ emotion! She looked around to see the source and as she did so, something fell to the ground from within the folded paper she held. Holly looked down to see what had fallen. She froze recognizing a familiar small dark blue rectangular card. Holly knelt and picked it up to be sure. Flipping it over, Holly saw Vernon’s name written on the card in yellow cursive letters surrounded by an elaborate calligraphy style border on the edge of the card that included Celtic knots and twining vines. The card was a Personal Protective Ward—not just any ward, but the one Holly had made in class and given to Vernon last year!  
           Fearfully, Holly opened the folded paper she held…

**Act normal.** It instructed.  
                                     **Say anything and your family will die!**

The familiar form of the head and shoulders of the headmaster was imprinted at the bottom.

**********

          “Holly, are you all right?” came the concerned voice of Cousin Harry.  
           Holly gulped. “I’m fine,” she lied and swiftly stuffed both note and card in her pocket. “I, ah, just stumbled…” Holly added while standing up. _Sir had Vernon!_ This was no mind game like over the holidays. He _had_ Vernon! There was no other way he could have gotten Vernon’s ward card. Holly could tell Cousin Harry about the note and he would protect her from Sir; they could even look for the person who left the note—but that wouldn’t save Vernon. Sir _had_ Vernon!  
           “Oh,” said Cousin Harry. “I believe I see your parents…”  
           Holly looked up and indeed saw the familiar forms of mum and dad coming forward from the opposite side of the park. To her intense relief, she noted Vernon trailing along behind. But as they neared, Holly suddenly realized both mum and dad were … “happy!” _Imperius Curse_ kind of happy!

  
           **_“NOOOOO!”_** screamed Holly in her mind. _“No, no, no, no, **nooooooo!”**_

 


	36. Chapter 36

          Roland DeWolfe ignored his litter-bag and edged closer. This was it!!! The exchange! The time when Harry Potter returned Holly to the care of her family. If Sir was going to try anything, it would be now—before the Wycliffs could take their daughter and drive off into unplottable obscurity for the summer. Taking care to keep out of Holly’s line of vision, Roland took another step closer, jabbed a piece of paper with his litter stick (He was dressed as sanitation person) and strained his ears to listen in.  
          “Thank you for watching Holly,” began the hefty blond-haired man, presumably Holly’s father, “but we won’t be needing you any more.”  
          “Oh?” questioned Mr. Potter.  
          “Yeah. I’ve decided I want nothing more to do with _you wizards!”_   He spit out that last part with obvious disgust.  
          “Oh?” replied Mr. Potter calmly.  
          “Yeah, we’re moving! Someplace new and I’m _not_ telling you where!”  
_“That’s too bad,”_ thought Roland, _“but understandable.”_ The last year had to have been particularly rough on the Wycliffs—loosing and regaining their daughter like that. Moving would renew the unplottable magic that protected the family. Harry Potter would no longer be a secret keeper. If _no_ wizard knew their location then Holly would be truly safe from wizards like Sir….”  
          “Yes, of course,” agreed the lady standing next to Mr. Wycliff, presumably Mrs. Wycliff, Holly's mum. "Someplace nice and quiet.”  
          “Tell them at _that school_ of yours that Holly won’t be returning, ever!” the father continued.  
          “As you wish,” replied Mr. Potter courteously.  
          Roland was amazed at Mr. Potter’s restraint in the face of Mr. Wycliff’s belligerent attitude. He knew they didn’t like each other, but was the relationship like this all the time?  
          “Where shall I send the transcripts?” Mr. Potter asked calmly.  
          “NO!” exclaimed Mr. Wycliff forcefully. “No transcripts this time either. Holly won’t be needing them—uh, we’ll manage just fine without them.”  
          That wasn’t good. Roland was certain it would not be easy to enroll Holly in a new school without transcripts…  
          “I’m taking Vernon out of Smeltings, too,” Mr. Wycliff continued. “It’s too exposed; too many of you guys know about the school…”  
_“Unfortunately true,”_ agreed Roland mentally knowing that besides himself and Ravendra, Ms. Skeeter had found Vernon at the school as had Witch Umbridge. _“More so when one considered Sir had to be somewhere near Smeltings, too, but Vernon was near completing instruction at Smeltings. It would be difficult for him to finish up somewhere else…”_  
          “I’ve found a better place for him.” Mr. Wycliff added. “Come along, Holly,” he ordered. “We’ve a long way to go to get to your new house. I picked it out just for you…  Holly?” insisted Mr. Wycliff when she didn’t immediately move forward. _**“Now!”**_

*************

          A soft rustle of grass alerted Roland of Ravindra’s arrival. “Well?” he asked in a low voice.  
          “Nothing,” answered Ravindra. She bent down and stretched her legs as she talked trying to not look like she was talking with Roland. “Found the trench coat, hat and scarf,” referring to the outer clothing worn by the mysterious person who had given Holly a piece of paper and run off, “in the trash but couldn’t find him. Think it was Sir?”  
          “Had to be,” agreed Roland, “or someone at his direction. But if it was Sir, why did he just give Holly something; why didn’t he try to snatch her?” questioned Roland worriedly as he picked up a scrap of paper with a pointed stick. He pulled the paper off the stick and stuck it in the bag he carried. They’d spread a lot of little pieces of paper around the park the previous night just so he’d have an excuse to stand around and look busy. “What’s he up to?”  
          “I don’t know,” Ravindra answered as she readjusted a shoelace. She wore bright blue skin-tight top and shorts that she said was made for running. She’d been running around the park on the pretext of being a “jogger.” “But something’s going down; Holly’s still white as a sheet.” Holly had turned white the moment she picked up the piece of paper from the ground and whiter still, if possible, when she opened up the folded paper. “Sir has to be around or she wouldn’t be behaving this way,” Ravindra added. She stood and stretched her arms. “I’m going to circle around to the other side and see if I can spot anybody looking suspicious…”  
          Roland nodded. “I’ll keep watch here,” he told her. Ravindra stretched her arms one last time and moved off at a brisk trot. Roland stabbed a piece of paper and walked forward. He studied the Potter family as he moved.  
          On the surface things looked fairly normal but he knew they weren’t. Sir was somewhere nearby planning something. No, he was doing something, something that involved sending a note to Holly. What did it say? What did he want her to do? Roland watched Holly walk stiffly towards her parents. _“Go to her parents?”_ he asked himself. _“He wouldn’t need to tell her that,”_ argued Roland. _“She was there to do that anyway.”_ Mr. and Mrs. Wycliff each grabbed one of Holly’s wrists and pulled her along. _“Wait a minute!”_ thought Roland with growing excitement. _“That’s not what parents do!”_  
          Of course! The _Imperius Curse!_ Sir must have cursed her family! It was not what he wanted her _to_ do, but _not_ to do! Holly must have been ordered to not reveal her family was under the _Imperius Curse!_ Seen in that light, Mr. Wycliff’s words took on a more sinister meaning! Sir clearly intended to move Holly’s family to a new location and become their Secret Keeper, their _only_ Secret Keeper. No one would ever find them again without his consent… This final meeting, and Mr. Wycliff’s words, would insure that Harry Potter would not try to seek them out.  
          So where was Sir? Roland looked again around the people in the park. No one was looking even remotely at the Wycliffs. Cautiously Roland drew out his wand. _“Homo Revelus!”_ he whispered and pointed the wand in an arc in front of him. No one seemed to be there that he couldn’t see… Wait a minute! They’d been talking! You had to be close enough to hear the questions to get a person under an _Imperius Curse_ to respond properly. _“Homo Revelus!”_ he whispered again and this time pointed the wand in the general area of the family. Still nothing! Roland knew he was running out of time. Even as he watched, the Wycliffs were leaving—Holly and her parents in front, Vernon in behind. Once they moved out of sight, they might never be seen again!  
          “Vernon!” Roland heard Mr. Potter call out. “Vernon!” he called again louder as the family hadn’t stopped. This time Vernon kind of jerked and then stopped. Then Mr. and Mrs. Wycliff stopped too while still holding Holly firmly between them. Vernon turned and looked at Mr. Potter.  
          “Holly’s luggage,” he said. “You forgot to get it.”  
          “Oh, yeah,” Vernon kind of mumbled.  
_“That was odd,”_ mused Roland as he watched Vernon walk back to Mr. Potter and Holly’s luggage. If Sir was trying to fix it so Mr. Potter would never know something was wrong, would never seek out his cousins, why would he forget to order Vernon to get the luggage? Unless… _“No!”_ thought Roland with shock. He’d been keeping an eye on Vernon Wycliff nearly all year and knew him fairly well. How could that _not_ be Vernon in front of him!!!  
          Sure, Roland knew Sir was a metamorphmagus but Sir was only known to create different appearances not _recreate_ the appearances of others! As Roland pondered this idea, Vernon lifted some of Holly’s bags up and stuffed them under his left arm. Then he turned and pointed his right arm, a long sleeved arm and hand, just a bit, in the direction of Mr. and Mrs. Wycliff. The two started moving again with Holly between them. Vernon retrieved the last bag with his free hand and started walking quickly towards the vanishing trio.  
_“Petrificus Totalus!”_ shouted Roland. Vernon stiffened and fell flat. Holly’s bags tumbled on top covering his body. That tiny bit of pointing, that was wand action! Roland was certain! “Vernon” had just ordered the Wycliffs to keep walking! And he’d done it earlier, too, before going to get the bags! The order had been to stop that time!  
          Roland quickly stepped forward ignoring the sudden fear he had made a mistake and said, “In the name of the Ministry, I arrest you for the use of an _Imperius Curse_ on Muggles!” Now, to get that wand! Ten, nine, eight… Roland and Ravindra had the aurors re-enact what had happened in Holly’s prison numerous times and estimated they had approximately 20 seconds before Sir could move, maybe less and Roland had already used some of that time up to formally arrest him!  
_"Stupify!”_ came Mr. Potter’s voice loud and clear. Six, five…  
**_“Noooooo!”_** screamed Holly!  
          “Three, two…” Roland gave up on getting the wand, dropped onto the body, grabbed the leg he saw in front of him and hung on tightly. Suddenly he felt the familiar sensation of squeezing and pushing that meant he was Apparating!

**********

          The moment the squeezing sensation stopped Roland lifted his wand and Apparated the two again—this time to a predetermined location of _his_ choosing! The idea was to Apparate before Sir had a chance to break loose and get him to a secure location where he could be properly captured. In this instance it was a field with no Muggles nearby, one filled with waiting aurors. They had been there since before the Hogwarts Express had pulled into the Kings Cross Station.  
          The pain in his whole left side was sudden and agonizing! _“I’ve been splinched!”_ thought Roland DeWolfe with shock when the squeezing sensation stopped! He’d never been splinched before!  
          Ignoring the pain, Roland hung on until a shadowy figure overhead said, “Got it! You can let go now.” Roland twisted until he could see the wand in the auror’s hand and then let the aurors lift him up and pull away from “Vernon.” Once upright, Roland shook himself free from their grip and staggered back to the person on the ground.  
          “You moved after a _Petrificus Totalus_ spell!” Roland told the person on the ground despite the pain. “That positively identifies you as “Sir!” I also charge you with the kidnapping of Holly Wycliff, unlawful detention, assault, Muggle assault, use of an _Imperius Curse_ on a wizard, attempted murder and Muggle murder, _Sir!”_ he snapped the last word out as he knew Sir had forced Holly to do during her captivity.  
          Sir/Vernon stared malevolently back at him with cold blue eyes!  
          “You O.K.?” asked Wizard Thomas with concern as the other aurors drew Sir up and tied his wrists.  
          “Fine,” replied Roland through his teeth while the aurors bound ropes around Sir’s upper body for good measures. Roland wouldn’t be casting spells any time soon but he could take the pain for now and he wasn’t about to leave until he was certain Sir could no longer harm Holly. “That’s Sir!” he added again positively identifying the person in front of them.  
          “He looks younger than I expected,” mused Wizard Thomas.  
          “That’s because, uh,” Roland fumbled for an explanation… He didn’t dare say the appearance was that of Holly’s brother. Vernon was unplottable but the spell would surely break if the whole wizard community knew they were looking at the appearance of Holly’s brother. “It’s, ah, the perfect disguise,” Roland finally said. “No one would think someone who looked so young was actually Sir…”  
         "True," agreed Wizard Thomas thoughtfully.  
          Sir looked around at the grim faced aurors. “Wha-what’s going on?” he asked in a voice totally unlike Vernon’s. “Who are all you people? What are you doing?” He sounded totally confused, like any Muggle would be in a similar situation. “Let me go!” he demanded. Then his eyes fixed on Roland. “I know you!” he exclaimed. “You’re the Janitor! Let me go!” he ordered. “Tell them to let me go! Right now! Wait until my parents find out what you’re up to!!!” he threatened while he struggled to get free. “You’re going to be so sorry!” Sir promised dropping to his knees as he fought to free himself.  
          “Uh, you sure you have the right person?” asked Wizard Thomas doubtfully, “I mean, perhaps he was given the wand to put you off…”

_**“Stupify!”**_

          Sir went flying through the air knocking over aurors as he went and landed on the ground in front of Wizard Thomas with a loud thud. “He has a wand in his sock!” announced auror Paige Crowley as she coolly stepped forward from behind the trees, wand extended.  
          Wizard Thomas bent down and patted Sir’s ankle, which was within reach of Sir's bound arms and fingers. “Why so he does,” Thomas confirmed in an amazed sounding voice as he removed a second wand. “How did you know?”  
          “Wycliff had two wands,” Crowley replied as if that answered everything.  
          “May I?” she asked holding out her hand indicating she wanted to see the wand Wizard Thomas now held.  
          “Uh, yeah,” said Wizard Thomas and handed her the wand.  
          “You’re helping them!” exploded Sir suddenly. His voice sounded nothing like a confused Muggle. “How could you?”  
          Roland had been totally surprised to learn Crowley had taken auror vows. He had always thought of her as “too Slytherin” to become an auror. Didn’t even think Slytherins could even become aurors because of that vow. Ravindra laughed when he mentioned his thoughts and had asked, “What better way to eliminate the competition?” Roland wasn’t sure whether he found Ravindra’s explanation reassuring or more troubling.  
          On the other hand, Roland had to admit that Crowley’s encounter with “Sir” at the store had been a major break-through. The delicate floral wrist corsage she now wore and the red boutonnier Ministry Officials wore on their robes were supposed to turn black at the presence of Serenity in the air—that would help protect the Ministry and insure that Ministry Official actions were indeed their own. And Roland suspected Crowley had developed the potion Wizard Thomas had made everyone in the Ministry take. Roland wasn’t sure exactly what it did, but it had to be pretty important the way Wizard Thomas had insisted everyone take it without exception. Thomas had actually threatened instant dismissal should he (Roland) refuse—well, you couldn’t actually dismiss an auror, but you could put that person on _permanent_ inactive duty which was close enough and Roland knew his work protecting Vernon and finding Sir was too important to risk that... Ravindra said that the spoon used for the potion was Paige’s invention and the lemon mint taste suggested Slytherin colours…  
          Crowley regarded Sir coolly a moment without speaking and then returned her attention to the wand. “This is Nicolas MacVellee’s wand,” she announced while handing the wand back to Wizard Thomas.  
          “Is it really?” asked the wizard while looking at the wand thoughtfully. Roland could tell the wand did look a lot like the sketch circulated. “Where is Nicolas MacVellee?”  
          “Who?” Sir asked belligerently. It was hard to take the youth in front of them seriously especially when he looked so much like Vernon but Roland reminded himself Sir was a metamorphmagus and appearance had nothing to do with his abilities or crimes.  
          “I guess we’ll have to charge you with _wand theft_ too,” Wizard Thomas decided aloud.  
          Wand theft was a very serious crime, tantamount to a charge of wizard murder! If the actual owner did not appear to claim or explain how the wand came to be in this person’s hand the charge presumed the original wand owner could _not_ retrieve his/her wand because he/she was dead, most likely at the hands of whomever had the wand.  
          It was no crime to be a metamorphmagus or have numerous wands, if those wands were acquired legally. All Sir had to do was provide proof he acquired the wand legally to get that particular charge dropped. The charge could also be dropped if Sir admitted he _was_ actually Nicolas MacVellee (and proved it) because then no actual _theft_ had occurred. Of course, if he did so, the Ministry would then probably charge him, as Nicolas MacVellee, with the attempted murder of Paige Crowley, the destruction of the two S ‘N S stores and the murder of Wizard Ercwlff. Not that the body found in the rubble had conclusively been proven as that of Wizard Ercwlff’s...  
          Then Crowley fixed her black eyes on Roland. “You’re bleeding,” she observed coolly.  
          With a start, Roland looked down at the side that had been splinched. The adrenaline rush of the situation had kept the pain manageable but there was no denying the red that seeped through his clothes.  
          “Ah, Miss Crowley,” began Wizard Thomas, “would you assist Mr. DeWolfe to the hospital?”  
          “What? No?” refused Roland. “I’ve got to see this through, for Holly!”  
          “You’re hurt,” reminded Wizard Thomas. “You can’t Apparate, not now. Every one of us here knows exactly what Sir is and what he is capable of doing despite this mousy appearance. We’ll take him directly to Azkaban. I’ll put the chains on him myself so he won’t be able to leave! You can’t help,” he continued. “Not in your condition. You’d only slow us down; give him more time to find a way to escape… He got away from us before,” Wizard Thomas added. “But not this time! You have my word!”  
          “Y-yes sir,” agreed Roland reluctantly. He _was_ beginning to feel a bit faint… “But I’m not going anywhere until I see you off…”  
          “Of course,” agreed Wizard Thomas.  
          Roland watched as Wizard Thomas and the other aurors circled Sir and vanished as a group with a very loud _crack._ Then he looked at Crowley.  
          She regarded him with those black eyes momentarily and then withdrew a small dark green and gold card from beneath her wrist corsage. “I wish a ride,” she said coolly while addressing the card.  
          Roland stared in disbelief a few seconds later when a dark green limousine with gold trim and a glittering gold and black rattlesnake hood ornament glided silently up onto the field and stopped in front of her. Crowley noted Roland’s look and said, “I was ordered to get you to the hospital. You didn’t think I would take a _bus_ did you?” She shuttered as she said the word “bus.”  
          The drivers’ door opened and a uniformed chauffeur dressed in gray and gold stepped out. Roland recognized Rupert Shunpike beneath the colours. “Miss?” he asked giving Crowley a courtly bow. Only then did Rupert glance at Roland. Rupert paled, but said nothing.  
          “Do you suppose you could transport … someone … to the hospital?” Crowley asked. She looked pointedly at Roland as she spoke.  
          “This limo is exclusively for Slytherin use,” Rupert replied. “I could call a taxi, though,” he offered.  
          Crowley seemed to shutter again as she considered the idea. “No,” she replied. “I should go with him. Can an exception be made to the rules?”  
          “I believe so,” replied Rupert, “if you wish to include him, as a … guest.”  
          “Very well,” decided Crowley. “He is my … _guest.”_ She said the word with obvious distaste. “Get him in,” Crowley ordered nodding her head towards Roland. Rupert bowed again. “I’ll put him in front with me,” Rupert added, “so you won’t have to worry about the blood getting on things.” Crowley nodded without comment.  
          “Easy,” whispered Rupert as he swiftly moved to Roland’s side to help him into the vehicle. “I’ll get you there in no time!”  
          Once Roland was inside, Rupert returned, bowed again, and opened the door for Crowley. “This is Ministry business,” she told Rupert imperiously as she got inside. “Send them the bill.”  
          “Yes, Miss,” replied Rupert promptly. “The bar is stocked for your convenience, of course, but this trip should not take too long…” Rupert shut the door, rapidly returned to the driver’s side and got in.

***********

          “When did this all happen?” Roland asked as the limo glided away without a single bump.  
          “Got the limo for a Chessington run last year,” Rupert informed Roland proudly. “We noticed how the Slytherins liked preferred treatment and seemed willing t’ pay more fer it… An’ the limo was just sitting around unused so th’ Sidewinder Express was born. “Sidewinders” are snakes, of course,” Rupert informed. “Fast, poisonous snakes, all of which makes the Slytherins happy, but the “S” also stands for Shunpike!” he confided. Then Rupert lowered his voice. “This really a Ministry matter?” he asked worriedly as the limo glided to a smooth stop outside St. Mungo’s. “I mean, I wouldn’t charge for you, ever, but the Ministry?”  
          “The Ministry,” confirmed Roland and wondered if the Ministry had enough in its budget for a Slytherin auror…

***********


	37. Chapter 37

          “He’s got Vernon!” Holly screamed as Harry Potter drew near. “He’s gonna kill him! He’s gonna kill him!” she repeated desperately while looking up at Harry with tears streaming down her face.  
          “What’s going on, Harry?” growled Dudley as he brought himself to a sitting position. Harry’s _“Stupify”_ had struck Dudley squarely in the back tossing him down the path. Dudley had been holding onto Holly at the time so had taken Holly with him. Because Laurel was also holding onto Holly, she was dragged along after Holly. The three landed in a heap several meters away.  
          “Just taking care of some _old_ business,” Harry replied calmly while extending a hand to help Dudley up. Harry was relieved to see the confusion in Dudley’s face indicating he was probably no longer under the _Imperius Curse_. Harry wouldn’t have cast the stupefy spell in the first place except it was the only spell Harry knew that was likely to interrupt the orders of an _Imperius Curse_...  
          Harry had known something was up the moment the stranger gave Holly that note and ran off; there was no mistaking the terror in Holly’s whole behavior afterwards. Harry had guessed Dudley was under the effects of an _Imperius Curse_ once he started talking about moving and was certain when Dudley used the word “wizard.” He never, _ever_ used that word. It stood to reason that the rest of the family was also under an _Imperius Curse_ given the way Laurel and Vernon stood by so placidly as Dudley made announcements about future plans.  
          “What kind of business?” questioned Dudley while looking suspiciously at the hand offered.  
          “Vernon appears to be missing,” Harry said instead. He turned and offered his hand to Laurel, who accepted it gratefully, stood and started to brush her clothes off. It never occurred to Harry that Sir would take on Vernon’s shape until he saw Roland and “Vernon” vanish! Harry had thought the luggage omission was merely because Sir had too many curses to direct at the same time. He (Harry) had reminded “Vernon” about the luggage as a way to keep everyone in view giving Ravindra and Roland more time to find Sir. Harry knew it wasn’t Roland who had Apparated. Roland had cast the _Totalus_ spell deliberately. They had hoped to encourage Sir to reveal himself as _Sir_ to wizard witnesses by moving or Apparating afterwards--something only Sir was known to be able to do. The aurors had been prepared to go with him should he Apparate.  
          “Vernon?” questioned Dudley worriedly while getting to his feet. “What do you mean? He was right he— Where are we?” Dudley asked instead looking around for the first time.  
          “In the park,” replied Harry. “When do you last remember seeing Vernon?” he asked distracting Dudley from his confusion.  
          “Uh, he was with us in the parking lot,” answered Dudley as he dusted off his pants.  
          “Holly thinks that Sir got Vernon,” informed Harry.  
          “Sir? No!” exclaimed Dudley. “He couldn’t have gotten Vernon, not here, not while I—”  
          “It doesn’t matter whether Vernon wandered off or was otherwise distracted,” interrupted Harry realizing that Dudley wouldn’t want to consider the possibility that Sir had literally snatched Vernon right out from under his nose, so to speak. Worse was the possibility that Vernon had never even been in the auto with his parents, that he had been “snatched” while still at Smeltings. That would mean all their efforts to keep Vernon safe while at school had failed. “… but that he should be here but isn’t. Wouldn’t you agree?”  
          “Yes, of course,” said Dudley.  
          “And we need to get him back, especially if Sir has him…”  
          “Yes,” agreed Dudley. “And how do you propose to do that, especially if _Sir_ has him?”  
          “Winky.” Harry was rewarded by a reflective shutter. This was definitely Dudley.  
          Even if Dudley chose to forget her, Winky was Harry’s back-up should things go wrong in their attempt to capture Sir. And that was only if Dudley remained free. As long as Dudley remained free, Holly and Vernon would be too. The moment Harry heard the _Petrificus Totalus_ spell, Harry turned his efforts to protecting Dudley. Breaking the _Imperius Curse_ and keeping Dudley out of Sir’s hands was paramount. With Sir gone, Harry could only hope Roland and Dean had managed to capture him as planned.  
          “Call Winky,” said Harry, “and get Vernon.”  
          Dudley gulped. Fear and uncertainty rapidly filled his face. “Here?” he questioned. “I can’t!”  
          “Look at Holly,” replied Harry insistently. Holly was curled into a tight ball on the ground and was rocking back and forth. Laurel had knelt down to comfort her, but Holly had ignored her advances and had curled up even tighter. Holly looked worse than she had when Harry had seen her over the Holidays. “You must!” Harry told Dudley. “For Holly!”  
          “But—here? With all these people?” protested Dudley while looking around in fear. “I can’t!”  
          As if on cue, a loud screech sounded in the distance followed by the sound of a crash. “Oh, no!” came a very loud voice. Harry recognized it as Wizard Pilkington’s. “We’ve got to help!” People rushed past Harry and the Wycliffs.  
_“No!!!”_ screamed a second voice, Ravindra Vasari’s. “Fire! Blood! Somebody dial 9-9-9! Help!”  
          “Now, while everyone’s distracted,” insisted Harry certain no one was actually hurt. Wizard Pilkington must have realized a diversion would come in useful about now…  
          “But—”  
          “Sir _tortured_ Holly,” reminded Harry. Dudley winced at his words. “You want that to happen to Vernon? Winky!” Harry insisted. “Do it now! No one will notice!”  
          Dudley gulped. He looked fearfully about and then stammered, “W-Winky?”  
          Winky appeared promptly. Dillon cringed visibly at Winky’s presence despite her obvious eagerness and the snowy white pillowcase she still wore. “Hurry!” urged Harry before Dudley’s fear could take control.  
          “F-fetch Vernon!” commanded Dudley and Winky vanished.  
          She reappeared almost immediately, and with her was the familiar form of Vernon! Winky let go of Vernon and looked expectantly up at Dudley. Vernon kind of collapsed in a heap in front of Dudley. Harry breathed a sigh of relief; Vernon appeared both alive and unharmed.  
          Holly unfolded at Vernon’s arrival. She rose partially and staggered towards him. “You’re O.K.!” she told Vernon with obvious relief and enfolded him in her arms. “You’re O.K.!”  
          “Well, yeah,” replied Vernon in a confused sounding voice. “Why wouldn’t I be?”  
          Holly didn’t answer but only hugged Vernon tighter. Then Harry saw Holly open one eye, fix it on Winky, who stood behind Vernon, and mouth the word, “Go!” Winky lowered her head just a fraction and vanished. Harry breathed another sigh of relief. Holly was back to normal too, or close to it.  
          “Where am I anyway?” questioned Vernon.  
          “In the park,” answered Harry. “What’s the last thing you remember?”  
          “Uh, getting out of the auto at the parking lot?” Harry breathed yet another a sigh of relief. Sir had met them at the park, not Smeltings.  
          “That it then?” asked Laurel interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “Did you get him?”  
          “I think so,” replied Harry. Roland hadn’t reported back and that was worrysome but Sir was definitely not around so it should be safe for Holly to go home with her parents. “You sure you don’t want any transcripts?”  
          “Transcripts?” questioned Dudley. “Why?”  
          “No reason,” replied Harry. “Will you need help moving?”  
          “Moving? What for? Who said anything about moving?”  
          “I must have misunderstood,” Harry answered calmly. Hopefully, both Ravindra and Wizard Pilkington were listening in and could testify to Dudley’s original intent confirming that an _Imperius Curse_ had indeed been used on them causing the previous comments. “Just one more thing… Holly, I’d like that paper you got, if I may.”  
          “Paper?” she whispered almost fearfully while looking up at him.  
          “Yeah, the one you got earlier that came with that, uh, card that had Vernon’s name on it.” Harry had recognized the small blue/gold rectangle piece of paper that had fallen to the ground, which Holly had picked up and later stuffed into her pocket with the note.  
          “Name?” questioned Vernon. His hand went to his pant’s pocket and he swiftly pulled out his wallet. “Hey,” he exclaimed as he looked through it. “My card! It’s gone! When did that happen?”  
          “Doesn’t matter,” answered Holly softly. “I’ve got it.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out the card and gave it to Vernon.  
          “Thanks!” replied Vernon with relief. He smiled as he put the card back in his wallet and returned the wallet to his pocket. Then Holly stood and handed the folded note to Harry.  
          He unfolded the note and looked with horror at the message within. “This would explain your, ah, silence earlier,” he managed to stammer without showing emotion. How had Holly even functioned! He fervently hoped they had Sir safely behind bars now… Harry refolded the note and put it safely in his pocket. It would prove useful at the trial…  
          Suddenly Holly flashed him a brilliant smile. Dudley was right; it _was_ as if the sun had just come out. “You knew!” she exclaimed. “Knew he would come! How did you know?”  
          “I didn’t know,” denied Harry.  
          “But you had to have!” insisted Holly. “That worry! You were waiting! How?”  
          “I knew Sir still wanted you,” admitted Harry, “and that you would be most vulnerable when we met up with your parents. But I didn’t know he would actually _try_ something until it happened…”  
          Of course, Harry _had_ tried to set things up so Sir would try _here_ other than somewhere else… They had selected a park usually filled with Muggles so Holly wouldn’t notice a few extra people present “without” emotion. Then he arranged for aurors Vasari and DeWolfe, and Wizard Pilkington to mingle with the Muggles; they knew both Holly and Vernon by sight. They were to watch for Sir and could act as back-up if necessary.  
          Next, Harry had suggested Laurel write a letter to Vernon and mention the intended park and time when they would get Holly. Then he had dropped a note to Vernon and asked him to use Laurel’s letter as a bookmark while at school. Sir was somewhere around Smeltings and no doubt watching Vernon. He was sure to find a way to read that letter… Hopefully, the park would look attractive to Sir, and make him feel secure enough to develop his own plans... Holly had been told nothing; Harry was certain Sir would see something in Holly’s expressions and suspect... Fortunately, Harry’s preventative measures had been enough to thwart Sir.  
          Then Harry permitted a ghost of a smile to play on his lips as he asked, “Did you really think we’d let you go without a fight?”  
          “Oh, thank you!” gushed Holly. She ran forward and wrapped him in a tight hug. “Thank you so much!”  
          “My pleasure,” answered Harry returning the hug.  
          “I was so scared,” she whispered.  
          “With good reason,” agreed Harry softly. “But that’s over now,” he assured her. “Have a great summer!”  
          “I will!”

**********

          Holly Wycliff separated from Cousin Harry, ran over to her dad and gave him a proper hug. “I’m so glad you’re you!” she told him relieved he no longer felt totally “happy.” Then Holly hugged her mum and Vernon again, the real Vernon, not some emotionless terror.  
          “I’m ready!” she told her family and proceeded to gather up her bags. “Sasha?” Holly called out. “Sasha?” Holly looked about with sudden concern. “Where’s Sasha?” In her terror, she had forgotten about Sasha. Why hadn’t Sasha come forward?  
          “There!” exclaimed Vernon pointing of a mound of gray near a trashcan. Luggage forgotten, everyone rushed over. Sure enough, Sasha lay motionless on the ground.  
          “Oh, Sasha!” said Holly bending down. “What did he do to you?” she whispered as she reached out a hand and touched the still body.  
          Suddenly the cat quivered and a head popped up. Meow?” she questioned softly and staggered to her feet.  
          “Asleep!” said Cousin Harry with relief.  
          “What would I have done without you!” crooned Holly while gently picking up her cat. Sasha responded by purring loudly.  
          “It is fortunate you won’t have to find out,” replied Cousin Harry. It occurred to Holly that even if Cousin Harry had believed dad about the move, he would have known something was wrong the moment he saw Sasha. But would he have seen in time? Could he have been able to rescue them? Holly doubted it. “Is it really over?” she asked him worriedly.  
          “I think so,” answered Cousin Harry thoughtfully.  
          “But, Sir! He looks like—”  
          “Sir is a metamorphmagus,” reminded Cousin Harry. “He has looked like many people. One more appearance, that of a Muggle school boy on holiday, is of no significance. Don’t worry about it.”  
          “Yes, sir, if you say so,” agreed Holly reluctantly. “You will keep me informed?” Holly added worriedly.  
          “Of course,” agreed Cousin Harry promptly. “See you in July.”  
          “Yes, July!” said Holly. She tucked Sasha securely under one arm and picked up a suitcase with the other.  
          Vernon moved forward and got the rest. “What’s happening in July he asked as the family headed down the path.  
          “My birthday, silly!” answered Holly cheerfully adding mentally, _“and lessons in Apparating.”_ “Then I’ll be free!”

 

**The End**

 

 

***********************************************************

**Epilogue**

          The door opened. Sir stepped into the room. He had many names but that was the name he thought of himself when he stepped into this particular room. Using his wand Sir caused a teapot and a cup of tea to appear on the small table in the room. He sat down in the easy chair next to the table and picked up the cup of tea. Taking a sip Sir stared at the foreboding portrait of the man with the pointed nose piercing black eyes and stringy hair. “Who are you?” he mused yet again. “Muggle ancestor or Squib relative?” Sir's eyes turned to the small unframed picture unrolled and posted next to the larger one. It was of a similar person in emerald green robes holding a wand. “You're not a Potter," he informed the picture yet again, having already viewed the few photos of the Potter family he could find. "Why does she carry your portrait with her?” Sir asked himself as he had numerous times before.  
          It had been an easy matter for Sir to morph his body into something skinny enough to slip through the chains Wizard Thomas had fastened around his body at Azkaban. Sir had moved swiftly after Thomas left, before the dementors could fill him with gloom. Then he morphed into a huge sea serpent, slithered between the bars of his cell, made his way outside and into the ocean. The dementors circling overhead were only interested in human emotions not those of a sea snake. From there, Sir swam to the mainland and freedom.  
          The mystery of the two pictures was a question to be answered later, once he had Holly again. Sir set down the teacup and closed his eyes in thought. The attempt to capture the Wycliff family had taken advantage of a perceived opportunity. Had it succeeded, well and good. Its failure taught Sir much about those who would seek him; the more he learned about those who opposed him the better. Sir had no intention of letting anyone stand in his way.  
          Holly Wycliff’s cousin and guardian Harry Potter was clearly one who would try. That problem had been resolved once with the portkey explosion. The trick would not work a second time. Sir would have to think of something else. In person, Potter had appeared a clueless buffoon, but his behavior, taken in the light of the trap set, revealed a person more in keeping with the one who had bound the Wycliff family to a house elf just to free his cousin… Potter was nearly mudblood, raised with Muggles as he was. He should not have known of such magic let alone been capable of performing it. That he had done so reflected both determination and access to resources not commonly made public. If Sir wanted to work in leisure at perfecting Holly’s abilities while carrying out his other plans, Potter had to be eliminated as a potential threat.  
          Even though they were responsible for magical law enforcement, Wizard Thomas and the aurors were a group Sir had scarce given a thought to when making his original plans. He knew they would find nothing after the portkey explosion.  
          Convinced of their basic incompetence, Sir had still ignored the aurors after Holly’s escape secure in the knowledge that he had told Holly nothing they could investigate. Aside from the fact aurors supposedly made an unbreakable vow to hunt Dark Wizards, Sir knew little about the aurors, not even who they were. Sir had assumed Thomas had gotten his position as a perk after the Battle of Hogwarts, not because he actually _had_ ability. And though Sir knew there was an auror program at Hogwarts, the aurors received no publicity and the Slytherins who spoke of them while at Hogwarts, considered them a defunct profession—after all, Potter was nothing special and if he could defeat the Dark Lord, who needed aurors?  
          On the other hand, how _had_ Thomas and the other aurors gotten into Holly’s prison? It was unplottable, and unplottable places were secure from such invasions, or should have been. The “incompetent” aurors had almost captured Sir _twice!_ Had the aurors had a hand in other complications Sir had encountered during the year, such as the drop in Sorbi consumption? They could no longer be ignored. Sir needed to learn more about Thomas and the aurors and take action, if necessary, to insure they did not interfere with future plans.  
          Paige Crowley should have been in Azkaban prison for murder and destruction of private property. She had obviously brokered assistance in exchange for her freedom. Very enterprising. Though Paige's earlier interference had angered him, she _was_ a gifted a potions mixer and as such could still be a useful tool. Sir did not regret positioning Paige in a more protected location and waiting until those Gryffindors were passing by before ordering Paige to destroy the store. It had been a successful test of Serenity’s effectiveness both at a distance and through barriers. As he expected, the Gryffindors foolishly risked their lives just to rescue Paige. Sir had not expected the Gryffindors to be so observant forcing him to give up one of his identities… That part was annoying, but he had other identities…  Paige's subsequent cooperation with the Ministry could prove very useful. It put her in a position where she could learn and provide Sir with information on Thomas and the aurors… Serenity was a very useful potion…  
          And as for Holly Wycliff, she was still a key to success; her current freedom was only a temporary setback. Holly had proved wonderfully trainable. Even after several months of “freedom” Holly had obeyed Sir completely without hesitation or question.  When the time was right, Sir was confident he could pick Holly up again and continue both her education and training where they had left off. He was also certain he could obtain Holly’s complete cooperation even outside the prison environment given the right incentives and he knew them now. In two years, the “fetch” command would no longer shield Holly. Sir would be ready and waiting …

 

**********


End file.
